


Discomfort and Joy

by AduroWrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU after fifth year, Auror Draco Malfoy, Aurors, Christmas, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, minor Draco Malfoy/Luna Lovegood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AduroWrites/pseuds/AduroWrites
Summary: Alternate Universe after 5th year, a War-Time Christmas story taking place during 7th year. Complete.After the Auror Department falls to Death Eaters, Detective-Auror Draco Malfoy and his partner Kingsley Shacklebolt are forced to take refuge at the Burrow. When members of the Weasley family are captured by Death Eaters, Draco and Kingsley embark on a last-minute rescue mission to reunite the Weasley family for the holiday. Draco Malfoy saving Christmas? Well, it is the season for miracles.
Comments: 77
Kudos: 48





	1. The Fall of the Aurors

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. This is very obvious.

**London, England  
Auror Department, IRS  
December 18th  
1:34 pm**

Their time was up.

Captain Buchannan stared at the missive on his desk. It was written with a heavy hand, the letters bold and jagged. The black ink shone underneath the lamp light, glistening like thick, dark oil.

_Captain Buchannan,  
Your presence is requested in the Minister’s Office.  
~Pius Thicknesse_

He knew who Thicknesse was, or rather, who he had been. The past month had brought with it several inexplicable changes to his character. The Head of Magical Law Enforcement had never been a friendly man, but in the past few weeks, he’d become cold and cruel. He had never stood firm under the pressure of the Ministry, but now he bowed to the Wizengamot’s every whim. He had once been graced with the ability to see his own faults, and fix his own mistakes, but now he turned a blind eye to the slow, but methodical, dismantling of the Auror Department.

Buchannan suspected the Imperius, his entire division did, but there was nothing to be done. The other Auror squads had already fallen. First it was Internal Investigations, infiltrated by Death Eaters in order to spy on the inner workings of England's police force. Through the II, the Death Eaters spread to the rest of the force. B&F, Business and Fraud, was next. Companies owned by Muggle-borns were seized and their assets siphoned off to businesses sympathetic to the Pureblood cause. The Head Hunters, the most informal but best trained division, fell soon after. The Head Hunters was made up of bounty hunters and thrill seekers, and they had little regard for bureaucracy and policy. They had begun to tread on the Dark Lord's robes, arresting prominent Death Eaters and lowly minions alike. They’d been effectively crippled when the Wizengamot decided to restrict their arresting powers. The Special Task Force, responsible for undercover, sting, and protective operations, held out for as long as possible, but with Thicknesse firing, and occasionally arresting, good Aurors left and right, even the STF couldn't stand for long.

Now they were turning their eyes upon his division, upon his men.

The IRS had the smartest, most capable Aurors in the field. His men weren’t just law enforcement, they were detectives. They solved the hardest crimes in magical England. They regularly proved their intelligence by finding clues, poking holes in shoddy alibis, and discovering the truth underneath a mountain of lies. Not only were they cunning, but they proved their magical prowess as well, frequently assisting the STF and Head Hunters in chasing down and apprehending dangerous criminals. Buchannan only took the best Aurors, and they proved their worth, every day. 

Yes, he was damned proud of his men. And women. They’d held on for as long as they could, ignoring the mounting pressure from the Ministry to arrest Muggle-born citizens and Potter supporters. They refused to take bribes from Ministry officials to let convicted Death Eaters slide through the system. They refused even when the bribes turned to threats. They even refused to allow their Muggle-born co-workers be forced off the squad when Scrimgeour suggested that it might help “keep the peace”. They had all laid down their badges, prepared to walk out, before the Minister had relented.

They had done well, something Buchannan needed to tell them more often. In truth, working with these men – and women – humbled him. He couldn’t have hoped for any better result than this. The Ministry had been under siege since late August. Internal Investigations had been seized two weeks later. B&F had lasted until September. The Head Hunters and STF fell in late October. It was December now. Almost Christmas time. Over one hundred days. That was how long his men had stood, defying the odds. But Buchannan could smell the change in the air, a tangy, sickly scent, reminiscent of blood. Scrimgeour couldn't hold out much longer. He would be killed and Pius Thicknesse, now the Dark Lord’s puppet, would be put in his place to rule.

Buchannan tossed the missive into the fire. He wouldn’t be walking up the stairs to join whatever Death Eaters had congregated. He would be leaving. But he had one last task to perform.

Buchannan stood and opened his office door. The brightly lit bullpen was a veritable maze of desks. Adding to the usual clutter were outlandish Christmas decorations. Flying mistletoe sprigs swooped from corner to doorway, more frequently than not colliding in mid-air. Garland drooped around the walls. A Christmas tree leaned alarmingly in one corner. Apparently his detectives could apprehend the world's most dangerous wizards but couldn't cast a proper sticking charm. Red and gold lights were tacked up with greater success. By the two desks on the left side of the room, the lights had been changed to green and silver. The youngest of the detectives felt all Christmas colors, not just the Auror hues, should be represented. 

A paper plane memo swooped into the room to land on Ellington’s in basket. It brushed by one of the dozens of paper snowflakes hung from the ceiling, and a puff of white glitter was released. The floor would sparkle until summer, Buchannan was sure of it. He wondered if he’d get to see it. His eye was drawn to the stack of presents underneath the tilted tree. He didn’t even know if they’d make it to Christmas, but the office party had still been planned. His wife had even started baking cookies for the event. It would have been a good Christmas this year. 

Buchannan turned his attention to his detectives. Even with the flashy, distracting decorations, his men, and women, stood out. Sometimes Buchannan didn't know if he was running the IRS, or a nursery.

“Give me a kiss, won'tcha darling?” Pat Savage entreated, holding up a twig of mistletoe. His merry brown eyes and wide, smiling mouth were a direct contrast to his family name.

Delia Proudfoot, blonde, athletic, and impeccably attired, burnt the mistletoe to ash with one quick spell. Pat yelped and dropped the plant. Delia grinned, triumphant.

“Shot down in flames,” called out Will Williamson, who then laughed at his own play on words. 

Ellington Hawke shot the younger Auror a dark, unimpressed look and then returned to his papers. He didn’t bother trying to intervene for his own partner. Ellington and Delia worked well together because they both expected the other to handle their own problems, and wouldn’t step in unless asked. And Pat’s ongoing flirtation with Delia was less of a problem and more of a tradition at this point. Buchannan squinted at Ellington’s desk. Was he actually doing his paperwork, or was he filling out the Daily Prophet crossword? Whichever it was, it wasn’t doing a good job of holding his attention. His gaze kept drifting towards Penelope Farraday, a self-conscious, self-proclaimed wallflower, currently decked out in a truly horrible Christmas sweater. Her face was bright-red on behalf of Pat. She was a sympathetic blusher. 

“Don’t give up too easily,” called out the department secretary Madeline Henwick, a wizened old witch. She wore a Santa hat over her white hair, the bells on the end jingling whenever she moved. “I think she protests too much.”

“By the end of the holiday,” said Pat to Delia.

“You’d have better luck with a banshee.”

“A fiver on Delia kicking his ass,” Gordon Harding said. 

Penelope slapped his shoulder, scolding her partner for for betting on their coworkers.

“Ten on a kiss by New Year’s,” Will returned, always ready to support his partner, even if the deck was stacked against Pat.

“Fifteen on Pat ending up in the hospital,” Delia said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

“Twenty on dinner,” Pat said. “I’ve got a reservation at Lux.” 

There was a brief pause as the detectives took in this new information. Lux was a high-end restaurant, known for its holiday menu. Delia was a connoisseur of fine dining. 

“Thirty on the kiss,” Will said, upping the bet at this new development.

“Fifty on the hospital,” Gordon said, still unconvinced.

Delia’s eyes narrowed at Pat. “You can’t afford it.”

It wasn’t an outright dismissal. Pat’s eyes gleamed; his lips tugged up.

“I’ll pay,” came a new, droll voice. “If only to end this ill-fated romance and save us all the headache.”

Two detectives stepped into the room, their long red-leather coats wet with melting snow. The larger detective shoved his partner underneath a snowflake for his snarky remark. Glitter rained down. The detective cursed.

“Sunshine!” Pat exclaimed. “Do you mean it?”

‘Sunshine’ scowled and opened his mouth to trade an insult back, so Buchannan took a step forward and cleared his throat. If he didn’t interrupt now, his detectives would be trading insults all day. 

At the sound of their boss, the room immediately quieted. Expectant faces turned to him, and Buchannan tried to smile, not because everything was going to be okay, but because he appreciated each and every one of his detectives.

“I’m afraid our luck has run out,” he said. “I have been asked to meet with the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and we all know what comes next.”

They knew it as much as he did. He’d be sacked, immediately. And if he didn’t leave quietly, he’d be sent to Azkaban. It had happened to Kurt 'the Fury' Gallop, Captain of the Head Hunters, and Regina Persley, head of Business and Fraud.

“I want to say,” he continued, not giving his men any time to react to the news, “that you ought to be proud of yourselves. No one can accuse you of being derelict in your duties to your country. You have upheld the law, you have sought justice, and you have done so at great risk to yourselves and your loved ones. When this war is over, you will be remembered as the few, brave faithful who did not bend and who did not break and who did not let the IRS be tarnished by the actions of our fallen Ministry.

“At this time, however, we are left with no options. I have no doubt that to remain here is suicide, and we still have a public to serve. There is a resistance out there. A resistance that I will fight for in order to ensure the survival of the values we hold dear, values such as freedom, equality, honor, and justice. I cannot ask that you join, because you have given so much of yourselves already, and for that you have my deepest gratitude. But I hope you will do so, because I believe you have more to offer and your country needs you, now more than ever.” 

Buchannan paused, meeting each and every one of his detectives’ gaze. “I am proud, no, I am honored to have been able to serve with you. I thank you, most adamantly, for your diligence.”

He nodded, having said all he needed. For a moment, there were no words. Perhaps it was because he, as their captain, was a quiet man. He watched the detectives take in his words and then look at each other, almost hoping that someone else would be the first to respond. 

From the side of the room, the droll voice spoke again. “I suppose this means we aren’t getting the raise we asked – oof!” The voice cut off as his partner elbowed him in the ribs, and then suddenly the room was full of conversation, his detectives speaking over each other to be heard.

“Sir, are you sure?”

“Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_.”

“The honor has been ours, sir. Truly. Thank you.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do? What about another petition of the Wizengamot?”

“You don’t even need a raise, Sunshine.”

“That’s why I’m asking, for the rest of you.”

“I’ve got a cousin on the Order we can contact. We should rendezvous at the safe house on Main.”

“I just wanted one holiday of peace and quiet, and what do I get? Fucking Death Eaters. I knew I shouldn’t have come to work today.”

Buchannan smiled at the chaos. He wasn’t upset that the moment of gravitas had been broken. His detectives didn’t cope well with dramatics. In their eyes, there was nothing particularly heroic or astounding about their bravery. They felt called to serve, and so they did, without complaint, despite being overworked and underpaid. That was, of course, what made them heroic. 

Buchannan snapped his heels together and saluted. His detectives snapped to attention. He had never seen them salute so crisply, in perfect synchronism, their faces all reflecting a shared determination. With such a resolve, and with such capable Aurors, Buchannan knew the war could only go one way.

“Alright, boys,” Pat Savage drawled. “And ladies,” he added with a wink. “Let’s clear out and find us some Death Eaters to fight.”

“You won’t have far to look,” said a hard voice in the back of the room.

His detectives swung around, wands appearing in their hands and leveling at the intruders in a blink of the eye. Buchannan held his own wand loosely at his side. How had the Death Eaters made it in? The Auror offices were warded and locked.

“We had hoped you might display some form of higher intelligence,” the black-robed figure said.

Buchannan couldn’t identify the Death Eater by the voice, and a mask covered his face. His compatriots, all fourteen of them, spread out behind him, similarly masked.

“But then again,” the Death Eater continued, “you were always a bit of a heroic, Albert.”

That was directed at him, and now Buchannan raised his wand. There was only one man who called him by his despised given name.

“Yaxley,” he spat, and cast the first curse.

**Diagon Alley, England  
December 18th  
2:51 pm **

Snow whipped around the darkened, battered buildings. The streetlamps shone weakly, adding their dim, yellow glow to the quickly fading light of the afternoon sun, blocked by the thick, grey clouds that hung low in the sky. The wind shrieked as it whistled through deserted alleys and through broken and boarded windows.

Draco pressed his sweater further into the wound on his partner’s chest. Blood soaked through the pale blue cashmere, turning it a deep burgundy. It welled over his fingers. His body shuddered from the cold, his muscles seizing and tightening, but he made no move towards his hastily discarded coat. The red leather duster flapped in the wind, skidding slightly across the sidewalk, but the weight of the coat kept it from tearing away in the gusts.

“Damn it,” he swore through clenched teeth. Tears, born of frigid air and rising desperation, stung at the corner of his eyes. His eyes and his hands, buried by his partner's blood, were his only sources of warmth. His arms were bare, his chest and back covered by a thin, wet t-shirt. The snow that had collected on the cotton had melted from the warmth of his skin, but now it was beginning to freeze to his shoulders. His legs were completely numbed from kneeling on the frozen ground, even though he’d only been stemming the flow of blood from his partner’s chest for a matter of minutes. He could feel the gush of blood begin to slow, no longer pumping out but tapering off to a stream. Draco pressed down harder. His partner didn’t even flinch. 

“Don’t die. Don’t die. Don’t die,” he chanted. The words were chattered, his teeth knocking together. The stream slowed to a trickle.

Draco struggled for his wand. It was fallen from his hand and was partially wedged under his partner’s side. His blood-slicked fingers nearly lost purchase on the hawthorn wood, but he tightened his grip and cast the blood replenishing charm for the third time. He followed that with an energy spell and renewed the pace-making charm to keep his partner’s heart beating steadily. He hoped the pain-numbing charm was still working. He didn’t have the strength to cast another. Already, he could tell his spells were weakening. There was no outrush of blood from the wound, which would be indicative of a large deposit of red cells. Instead the flow peaked, then abated again.

The tears spilled, freezing on his cheeks. Draco leaned over his partner, raising one bloody hand to the still face, trying to rouse him, and in doing so, the vivid green curse that cut through the air, right where his head had just been, missed him by inches. It left a searing stench of sulfur. Draco didn’t waste the energy to swear in frustration, didn’t stop to wonder how they’d been found again. He just rolled his partner over, onto his discarded coat, and cast a quick lightening charm. He grabbed the sleeves and ran, bent at the waist, dragging his partner behind him. He strained to see any sort of shelter through the ever-thickening snow fall.

Curses were flung, badly aimed, but still deadly. Draco dragged in quick breaths, his lungs seizing in the cold, the white-hot pain a counterpoint to the arctic weather. He turned down a small alley, towing his unconscious partner into relative safety, and then he grasped his wand, peering out past the alley. 

Colored lights flew by in bursts. He added a few of his own spells to the mix, not knowing if he was actually hitting anyone. Against the flurry of snow, the spells looked like the fireworks he had seen at the Quidditch World Cup. Lots of green fireworks. Too many green fireworks. He liked green, didn't he? Draco leaned against the brick building behind him and abruptly sank to the ground as his knees gave out. He stared at his legs, wondering if they were still attached to his body because he couldn’t feel them anymore.

A flash of orange hit the wall across from him, just on the edge. It collided with a shower of gold sparks that made him turn his head from the blinding glitter. When he looked back, a few bricks were gone, torn out from the wall and lying in crumbled dust on the ground.

Draco didn’t notice the crescendo of spells, or the shouts that were caught up in the shrieking wind. His mind had detached from the cold, from the pain, and from his fight for survival. Instead, he focused on one thing.

He tipped himself over, onto his hands. He managed to crawl the few feet to his partner. He pressed again on his sopping sweater. The blood was turning to slush, meaning that it was freezing over, meaning that no new, warm blood was draining out to counteract the cold. He leveled his wand, trying to think of the charm that might keep his partner alive just a few minutes longer. He couldn’t think of the words. His wand wavered in his grasp.

He didn't need to remember the words, just the intent, the motions, that should be enough, just _think_! 

Warm, white light shone from his wand. His partner jerked under the force of the spell, the slowing heart finding more plasma and red cells to distribute throughout his injured body.  


Draco collapsed over his partner, a shallow breath of triumph leaving his lips. 

A figure stepped into the alley, just visible in the flurry of snow. Draco stumbled back, grasping his coat again, trying to drag his partner away while raising his wand. The coordination of the movement eluded his frozen limbs and sluggish mind. He stumbled, not releasing the coat or his wand, so he hit the ground on his elbow and side. It jarred him enough to find one last burst of strength.

His wand sparked. The curses flew out, as strong as ever, but his hand shook. His whole arm wavered. The spells blasted through the stores to either side, forcing the figure back into the street, completely unharmed. Draco staggered to his feet, still clenching the red leather in one hand, wand in the other. His feet carried him four steps, and then the figure had returned, this time accompanied by two others.

Draco could have screamed in anger, in frustration. He had tried, sweet Merlin, he had tried. He raised his wand once more. There were voices over the wind, urgent and loud, but he couldn't even hear the howling of the storm, couldn’t feel the icy grip of a Dementor-influenced December blizzard.

The snow seemed to be falling faster, harder. His vision was turning white all around. He suddenly thought he must be caught in an avalanche, because he didn't know if he standing or if he was being tumbled about in a drift of snow.

Something struck his head. It wasn’t hard, but he had the vague feeling that the empty echo of a sensation should be pain. Someone had spilled paint. The snow was no longer white, but black, and it was covering him, burying him until there was nothing but darkness.

Arthur Weasley waited until Detective-Auror Draco Malfoy of the IRS crumpled to the ground next to his partner and Order member, Kingsley Shacklebolt, before attempting another rescue.

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
5:19 pm**

Arthur sat at the table, his hands wrapped around a cup of hot tea. For a few minutes, when he had been out in the blizzard, fighting the Death Eaters, he had wondered if he was ever going to be warm again. Now, sitting at the kitchen table with a fire roaring in the fireplace, with dry clothes and thick socks on, he finally felt comfortable.

Comfortable was perhaps the wrong word. Very little had been comfortable since the summer. He had watched the Ministry collapse until only Death Eaters remained. The clock on the kitchen wall reported that all of his children were in constant peril. His home was on the top of the list for Voldemort to find.

Just today he had witnessed the end of the Auror Department in which a very good friend and Order member was grievously injured. Kingsley Shacklebolt was currenly being tended to by his wife and second-oldest child. Molly had worked as a Healer’s aide before marrying Arthur, and Charlie had advanced first-aid training, a necessity for working with dragons. They hadn’t come downstairs yet.

Arthur and Tonks had focused their attention on a very different sort of problem: Draco Malfoy.

The boy hadn’t woken up once, not since his collapse in Diagon Alley. He’d been half-dead by the time the rescuers had returned to the Burrow, but freezing to death in the wizarding world was a very rare occurrence. There were several potions that were able to restore frozen tissue and raise the core body temperature. According to Tonks, the boy might sleep for several days while his body healed, but he would suffer no permanent damage.

The boy’s well-being was not the problem. It was _a_ problem, to be sure, but the more pressing matter involved his presence in the Burrow. With 12 Grimmauld Place gone, the Burrow was one of the last havens for the Order of the Phoenix and Arthur didn’t know if the boy could be trusted.

There were footsteps on the stairs and then Molly and Charlie appeared. Both appeared weary, but they were smiling. Arthur smiled too, understanding that they’d succeeded in saving Kingsley’s life, and got up to pour them both a cup of tea. Tonks and Remus came in from the living room to hear the update, so Arthur grabbed two more cups. The five adults settled around the table.

Only five and it was Christmas time. The Burrow should have been full of people, all seven of his children and their various friends and, in Bill's case, spouse. Molly should be cooking up a feast in the kitchen, enough to feed an army. The younger generation should be chatting by the fire over cups of hot chocolate. The radio should be playing, filling the room with classic holiday music.  


Instead, the family was forced apart. Charlie had made it back from Romania, but just barely. Bill and Fleur were settled in their little home, not a large distance away, but the Floo was being monitored and there were anti-Apparation wards on the Burrow. Other means of public transportation would be watched, especially for such prominent Potter-supporters like the Weasley family. It would be difficult for Bill and Fleur to make the trip.

Percy still had not contacted the family.

Fred and George were stuck in their shop on Diagon Alley. Instead of being publically arrested for supporting Harry Potter, and providing 'weaponry' to the rebellion, Fred and George had hid in the secret basement of their store. Lee Jordan, founder of Potterwatch, had already been living there with his radio broadcasting equipment. While they were safe in their hideout, the Death Eaters had never truly left the store. There were hourly patrols up and down Diagon Alley. It was all Fred and George could do to sneak out and get food for themselves. The Death Eaters had set up checkpoints at all entry and exit points of Diagon Alley.

Ron was somewhere with Harry and Hermione. It hurt Arthur to think that the fate of the wizarding world was resting solely on one boy's shoulders. He didn't think it was fair. Hadn't Harry suffered enough? And where Harry went, Ron followed. Arthur couldn’t help him or his son, not when he didn’t even know what sort of mission Harry was on. The secrecy pained him. The fact that Ron was so closely tied to Harry scared him.

Ginny was safe at Hogwarts, at least. While Dumbledore remained in control of the school, she would be cared for and looked after. Leaving Hogwarts would mean stepping out from that safety, and again, the trains were being watched. The Death Eaters would love to capture the girlfriend of the Boy-Who-Lived. It was stupid to risk her safety for a mere holiday. The best gift Arthur could receive was the continued safety of his children.

Arthur pulled himself from his musings. There were seven residing at the Burrow now, and while Draco Malfoy wasn’t his first choice for a house guest, Kingsley was a good friend.

“How’s Kingsley?” Arthur asked.

“Lucky,” said Charlie. He wrapped his hands around the mug. “He took a dark slicing hex to the chest, severing an artery and damaging his heart. Nearly all the blood that was in him was from blood-replenishing charms. The wound had been staunched with a sweater, which I'm guessing belongs to Malfoy.”

It would explain why the boy was wearing a t-shirt in the middle of a blizzard.

“Even with that, and the blood charms, the only reason Kingsley is alive right now is because of the cold. It slowed his heart enough to prevent a fatal blood loss and relieved the pressure on the damaged muscle.”

“So, he’ll recover,” said Tonks.

Charlie nodded. “He'll need to stay completely level for the next twenty-four hours, but after that, he'll be up in no time, no lasting damage. He already woke up once. He wasn’t really coherent, but he was asking about his partner.”

Arthur found Molly’s eyes. “Ginny did write.” 

The non-sequitor threw the rest of the table.

“What did she write?” Charlie asked.

Molly took a sip of her tea before answering. “She managed to get us a letter. She mentioned that Kingsley was at Hogwarts, investigating a series of attacks, and that Draco Malfoy was his partner. She wasn’t sure if he was Ministry plant or not, but he did get Umbridge sacked.”

“So chances are he’s legitimately an Auror,” said Charlie.

“So it would seem,” said Remus, although he didn’t look completely convinced.

“How is he?” Molly asked. 

“Sleeping,” Tonks supplied. “He'll be out for a couple of days as his temperature rises.”

Molly nodded and then looked over to Arthur, eyebrow raised.

“I put him on the ground floor,” said Arthur.

“Right next to you and mom?” Charlie asked.

Arthur shrugged. “I’ve never had a Malfoy in my house before. I want to keep an eye on him.”

“A Malfoy who’s an Auror,” mused Tonks. “Now there’s a story I want to hear.”


	2. Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own Harry Potter.

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 19th  
11:22 am**

Kingsley Shacklebolt, one of the most highly decorated Aurors of the Investigation and Retrieval Squad, opened his eyes to see paper snowflakes drifting from the ceiling. They wafted through the air before settling gently on the ground and disappearing to start their descent all over again.

Having ascertained, before he opened his eyes, that he was in no immediate danger, he watched the charmed paper with a small amount of amusement, and then turned to the rest of the room. Old, faded wallpaper. Ancient, but well-cared for, bedroom furniture. Neatly stacked books on the tiny desk and bookshelf and on top of the dresser. He was lying in a bed with a chipped, but highly polished headboard.

He smiled. Percy Weasley's old room. He was at the Burrow.

 _Merlin in a mini-skirt!_ He was at the Burrow, meaning he’d been rescued by Order members, and last he remembered, Draco had been with him. 

Kingsley sat up in absolute terror. There was a sudden, blinding pain in his chest. He could feel his heart contract and then refuse to release. He fell straight back, a gasp halted in agony, and then the door was flung open and Molly rushed in. With an efficiency that would have made any emergency room Healer proud, she cast a diagnostic charm, forced a vial of something torrid down his throat, and then sat back while his heart relaxed and started pumping blood again.

“You tried to get up, didn't you?” she asked.

Her hands were on her hips, head cocked to the side. She looked exceedingly unimpressed with him.

“Molly,” said Kingsley. He meant to follow her name with a question to his partner’s whereabouts, but his voice croaked over the word and then stopped working. 

Molly poured him a glass of water from the pitcher on the nearby dresser and held it for him. There was a straw in the glass, allowing him to drink without sitting up again. She was a good woman, Molly Weasley. Her only fault was that she couldn’t stop mothering anyone who was more than ten years younger than herself who didn’t have their own mother standing beside them. That applied to Kingsley, but to his partner as well. Kingsley could only hope that her caring nature would naturally transfer over to Draco despite his unfortunate parentage.

Kingsley took a swallow of water and tried again. “Molly.” His voice was stronger this time. Pleased, he started to continue, but Molly spoke over him.

“Arthur says the Auror floor in the Ministry has been completely taken over by Death Eaters. There’s been no report of any fatalities from your side, but information has been scarce. I take it you were ambushed?”

Kingsley nodded. “We were the last division standing. Everyone knew we’d never be Voldemort’s lackeys, so it gave them time to prepare their attack. They cut off our Floo access and the emergency portkeys were deactivated. They knew all our escape routes. It was hard getting out, and then they kept tracking us…,” he trailed off. “Molly, is –,” 

“Your Captain managed to get word out to a few Order members and other former Aurors through Potterwatch. We didn’t know there were so many willing to fight.”

“Potterwatch has been circulating through the Aurors. Buchannan must have known people would be listening. Molly, about –,” 

“You’re also lucky that Remus can track through a blizzard. The only reason you survived was because it was so cold. You were bleeding badly, but your wound had started to freeze over. The cashmere helped.”

Kingsley blinked. “Cashmere? I don’t – Molly, listen, I was with –,” 

“Draco Malfoy,” said Molly. She pronounced it flatly, no intonation that he could read into. 

Kingsley studied the Weasley matriarch. Her hair was showing more grays than ever. It was pulled back into a bun, but a few tendrils escaped to curl around her lined face. Her mouth was set and her gaze guarded, but the deep-set laugh lines about her mouth and the crows feet beside her eyes spoke of a lifetime of love and nurture.

“Is he okay?” 

“He’s sleeping. Has been since both of you were brought back here yesterday.”

Concerned spiked through him. Kingsley tried to sit up, but once again, his heart seemed to glitch. Molly stepped forward and pushed him down with one hand. It was somewhat embarrassing.

“You lie still,” she ordered. “You took an Acer curse to your chest and it did some damage to your heart. You’ll recover fine provided you lay still for another day.”

“Acer?” Kingsley felt a thrill of terror run through his body. The slicing hex was a classified dark spell, and it was usually lethal. The hex ensured that the wound stayed open, and no healing spell could close it. Healing an acer wound required a potion of dittany and moonstone. Having caught one in the middle of battle, he should be dead. 

Molly gave a wry smile. “You have a very dedicated partner, Auror Shacklebolt.”

She was surprised, of course she was. Kingsley knew it would be hard for the Weasleys to see any good in his partner because he was, unquestionably, a Malfoy. But Draco had a way of surprising people. It seemed to be a habit of his.

Right now, Kingsley was surprised to find himself alive after the battle he remembered very little about. He remembered Lucius targeting his partner. He remembered pulling Draco away from him. He remembered getting hit by the hex in retaliation, and then only flashes. The destruction of the IRS office. Draco Apparating them both away, first to the IRS safe house, then the train station, then an empty field. But they were followed; they couldn’t seem to lose their pursuers. He remembered a cold, snowy street, and Draco pressing down on his chest, his eyes wide and terrified. 

“How bad is Draco hurt?”

“A few bumps, bruises, and scrapes. The main problem is his body temperature. He was outside in the storm without a coat for too long, and used too many healing spells. He collapsed and hit his head, which knocked him out, but he’s just sleeping now. He’ll wake up when his body has recovered.”

Kingsley frowned. Outside without a coat? And then he remembered Molly’s earlier words.

“Cashmere,” he said, knowing what his partner had done. He let out a huff of air from his nose. Just yesterday morning, Draco had been teased about that cashmere jumper. It was too expensive for a detective’s budget. But Draco loathed synthetic fabrics, and he had the funds to buy a quality wardrobe. He liked being fashionable. And Kingsley knew he preferred the teasing to be about his clothes rather than his age or his family or any number of other things that he couldn’t control. 

“Saved your life,” agreed Molly. “Not something you expect to see a Malfoy doing.”

Kingsley just smiled. He’d been partnered with Draco for over a year now, ever since the boy dropped out of school after completing his fifth-year OWLs. Well, Draco had technically been a consultant until he’d turned seventeen and was hired as a full Auror, but the fact of the matter was that Kingsley had seen Draco save lives on numerous occasions. It wasn’t so surprising to him. 

“We'll let you keep your secrets for now,” Molly said, “but there’s a household of curious Order members who aren’t going to let the Malfoy in the room go unmentioned. Now, if you’re feeling peckish, I have two kinds of soup, chicken and tomato. I can make you a cheese toastie, if you want the tomato, or I have some nice, soft French bread if you want chicken. Or, if you’re feeling hungry, I can make you a sandwich to tie you over until dinner. It’s three o’clock now, so –,"

Kingsley let his head rest fully against the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. He sincerely hoped his partner wasn’t going to wake up until he could get out of this confounded bed. He didn’t know how his partner was going to react to waking up alone in a house full of Weasleys and Gryffindors.

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 19th  
7:22 pm **

Draco was tired. That was the first sensation he was aware of when he rolled over in the bed. His limbs felt heavy with fatigue. His brain was muddled. What time was it? His eyes fluttered open to rest on a poster of the Weird Sisters but he couldn’t keep them open. He was utterly exhausted. The blankets were warm around him, but he still felt chilled. He curled up tight, tugging the pillow closer to him and the soft flannel pillowcase brushed against his cheek.

_Flannel._

_Weird Sisters._

Draco opened his eyes and sat up. For a minute, all he could process was the ache that ate through every inch of his body. A groan left his lips. He pushed past the feeling of being bruised all over and focused on the pale-yellow walls and the light blue area carpet. This wasn’t his room. And it wasn’t Kingsley’s house either. The bed covers were roughly the same shade of blue as the carpet with sprigs of pink blossoms sprinkled over the top. The desk by the window had magically preserved blooms in a vase. It wasn’t a girly room, per se, as the bedding and the bud vase were the only appearances of pink, but there was a poster of the Weird Sisters and on the opposite wall was a poster of the Harpies. It was definitely a girl’s room. Why was he in a girl’s room?

Draco pushed back the covers and got to his feet, shivering all the while. Why was it so damned cold? And whose clothes was he wearing? He was in a pair of cotton striped pajama bottoms with a drawstring waist. From the size of them, the person they belonged to was a good stone or two heavier than him. Same with the t-shirt. Although it wasn’t too long, it was baggy. And the two articles clashed horribly as well. The bottoms were a green and blue plaid. The shirt was red, and now that he was looking at it, was that a Gryffindor lion on the front?

His head snapped up and he took in the room with a growing sense of dread. The room held nothing of value, and the furniture was old and worn, albeit clean and well mended. And it was a small room, a tiny room. And was that photo on the desk of a family of red-heads? And was that other photo…yes, it was Granger and Potter.

Oh Merlin. He was at the Weasley’s, in Ginny Weasley’s room no less. 

He sat back on the bed. He must have stood up to quickly, that was why he felt so light-headed. He closed his eyes tightly, willing the room to transform or disappear. Even the Dark Lord's dungeons would be preferably to this.

He opened his eyes. The room hadn’t changed, and still looked disappointingly solid, but there was a jumper and a pair of thick socks folded neatly on the desk chair, waiting for his use. Alright, maybe it wasn’t _worse_ than the Dark Lord's dungeons, just… similarly undesirable.

His wand was set on the middle of the desk. He toyed with the notion of Apparating away, or finding some way to leave, but if he was here, so was Kingsley. And he hadn’t left his partner to the minions of the Dark Lord, even when they were surrounded, so Draco was damned if he was going to leave him in the care of the Weasleys.

He shivered again and quickly pulled on the socks and jumper. The jumper was worn soft with age. It smelled of clean linen, and the only emblem on the front was the hieroglyphic for curse breakers. He tried to remember which of the Weasley boys worked with old curses. The oldest, or the second oldest? Will or Charles or some other plebian name. At least the sweater was blue and covered up the horrible t-shirt he was wearing.

Draco grabbed his wand and crossed the two steps to the door. The room really was ridiculously small. He grabbed the door handle and paused. He, Draco Malfoy, the youngest Detective-Auror in the IRS in the past hundred years, lost his nerve. The idea of walking out there, confronting who knows how many of the Weasley family and Order members, made his stomach turn. An odd pressure built up in his temples.

Merlin, he needed a cigarette.

 _Like hell, Malfoy_ , he scolded himself harshly. _You quit, remember?_

Besides, how bad could a bunch of do-gooders be? He jerked the door open before he could hesitate again.

There was a short hall in front of him with a closed door to the left. Another bedroom perhaps? There were voices to the right. No one had noticed his presence yet. He could simply return to the bed and sleep for another few hours. Maybe by then he would find himself in his own apartment in the expensive end of London and this whole day would have been nothing more than a dream. He wasn't a Gryffindor, after all. He didn’t enjoy these sorts of confrontations. When Slytherins went up against the unknown, they either had a well-constructed escape plan or a pack of crazed followers with them, ready to kill on command. Draco had neither at the moment.

Nevertheless, he turned right and slowly walked towards the noise. The hall opened up, revealing a cluttered, overstuffed living room. There were people sitting around a coffee table, a card game in front of them. They all looked up when Draco appeared in the doorway.

No doubt, if he was a Gryffindor, he would be able to make his mouth move to form a pleasant greeting. He would be able to stroll into the room and take a seat while making a blasé comment about the weather. Perhaps he would even invite himself into their game. As it was, he stood and stared at them, rather stupidly, and they, for all of their trumpeted Gryffindor bravery, stared back. At least there were only four of them.

A woman with frazzled red-and-gray hair got up from her chair. She was slightly plump and dressed in a long print skirt and wool cardigan. Her feet were encased in knitted slippers. Draco had only seen her in passing before, not enough to recognize her from any other red-haired woman, but here it was quite obvious who she was.

“Well, you’re awake,” she said, in the tone of someone who does not know whether the news is pleasing or frightening.

“Yes,” said Draco, always a paragon of eloquence.

There was another pause. Those on the sofa and armchairs squirmed in their seats. Draco shifted his weight. He began to think he should have just gone back to bed.

“Would…,” the woman began, then licked her lips and tried again, “would you like anything to eat?”

Draco was going to say no, but then his stomach twisted, and it wasn’t audible, but suddenly he felt very, very hungry, and the light-headedness was starting again, and he suddenly thought that if he did not eat, he was going to pass out. But everyone was staring, watching him, and it was more than uncomfortable, it was downright painful, and Merlin, where was Kingsley?

“I don't wish to –,” _be any trouble_ , was what he meant to say, but only the first four words came out, and then he had to clear his throat. His body decided then to realize how thirsty it was, along with hungry, and his tongue seemed to stick to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t seem to swallow. His lips felt rough and cracked.

“I didn’t mean to presume,” he forced out, taking a step back, and then the woman on the armchair, with the bright pink hair, rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“Merlin’s balls, Molly. Can’t you see he’s as scared of you as you are of him?”

Draco had heard that phrase before. He’d been a child, taking a walk with Narcissa along the vast grounds of the Malfoy estate. He had run ahead on the trail and had come across a thestral foal, only a few days old, standing on shaky legs with a hungry, wary look in its black eyes. He had shrieked and run back. His mother had reassured him with those words. _He’s just as scared of you._

Draco pushed the thought away because he had a suspicious feeling that he was the shaky-legged foal in this situation, and that was just ridiculous because he was a Detective-Auror with the Investigation and Retrieval Squad.

For as ridiculous as he found the notion, the Weasley mother’s eyes suddenly softened. Her mouth spread from a thin, pressed line into a warm smile. 

“You poor dear,” she said.

Draco took another step back as she started towards him, and he wasn’t retreating, really, he was just trying to find his footing in a defensive stance, and then she was in front of him, reaching up. His head was tipped down by two calloused, but gentle hands.

“You look pale. Are you running a fever?” she asked.

“I –,” said Draco, not knowing what to say, and then her hand drifted up to his forehead.

“Why, you’re freezing!” she exclaimed. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll make you some tea while the soup heats up.”

“I –,” Draco said again, trying to find the words to protest, but she ushered him in, pulling at his arm and pressing at his back, and all he could do was follow where she prodded. He got the distinct impression that those around the card table were laughing, albeit silently, but then they passed through an open doorway into the dining room.

The dining table was separated from the kitchen by a low counter that jutted out, dividing the room into two. There was a fireplace on each side. Mrs. Weasley guided him into a chair at the table right in front of the fire.

The additional heat did feel nice. He didn’t realize that he was shivering until he sat down in front of the flames. He tucked his shaking hands under his knees and watched as Mrs. Weasley bustled about the kitchen. She put a pot over the stove and set out the kettle. By the time she retrieved a teacup and saucer, the kettle was whistling and she expertly fixed a cup of black tea and placed it in front of him.

“Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“My thanks, but no,” said Draco, grateful to fall back on manners he practiced since he could talk.

“Is chicken soup all right? I could put on tomato, if you'd rather, but you look as if you’re about to come down with a cold, and the best way to avoid that is with the chicken. I’ll get you some bread too, of course. You missed dinner by a good two hours, but we have some ham left over, and some green beans and rice. Would you like any of that as well? Or there’s bread and sandwich fixings. How about that?"

Draco’s hands clutched his teacup at the onslaught of choices. “Soup is fine,” he managed, and then seeing her open her mouth, he clarified, “the chicken soup. Thank you.” 

To his relief, the woman nodded and moved off. Draco let out a breath and took a sip of tea. The fire was warm at his back, and the tea slid easily down his throat, heating him from the inside as well. His hands stopped shaking and the shivers lessened. He began to feel drowsy again and blinked rapidly as he found himself staring into his teacup.

“You look exhausted,” said Mrs. Weasley beside him.

Draco started, not having realized she had come over. She reached for his forehead again and made a pleased noise.

“But you're thawing out,” she pronounced. She set a plate of sliced French bread in front of him, a pat of butter and cheese on the side. “Your soup’s almost ready, and once you’re done eating, you can go right back to bed.”

She bustled back to the kitchen. Manners dictated that Draco should wait for the soup, but his stomach turned and then rumbled, and a glance at the clock showed him it was eight o clock. He hadn’t had anything since breakfast, so he buttered a piece of bread and bit into it. He had finished the first and started on the second when she brought over a large bowl of soup and a glass of milk. She didn’t seem at all appalled by his lack of table etiquette. Instead she smiled and said, “There’s more in the pot, if you’re still hungry.”

And then she left, and Draco was quite content to eat alone where he didn’t have to worry about people watching him devour his food, or dip the bread into the broth. Then again, the spoon he was given was not a soup spoon, and it wasn’t even real silver, and there was no tablecloth or serviettes. He figured they wouldn’t even know what dining etiquette he breached. 

After two pieces of bread, a few slices of cheese, and nearly half the soup, he finally slowed down enough to take a drink of milk and then actually tasted the soup, instead of shoveling it into his mouth. It was delicious. The broth was savory and light, the chicken perfectly spiced, and the vegetables were tender. He had no doubt that Mrs. Weasley had made it herself, had probably perfected the recipe after years of cooking it. It was at odds with what he knew about mothers. Narcissa had never cooked a day in her life. The house elves cooked for breakfasts and lunches. Dinners were prepared by a professional chef and were never less than three courses, five on the weekends, seven or nine when there was company. Formal attire was required; proper etiquette was demanded. As a child, dinners had been a chore. He’d enjoyed meals more at Hogwarts, where manners weren’t expected and were widely forgotten. Dinners on his own, in his own flat, were casual meals, usually take-out, and eaten with a book in hand or the radio on. He figured the same casualness could be expected here. He took a larger swallow of soup. He could manage staying the night with a bunch of Gryffindors, he supposed. 

The door in the kitchen opened. Snow and cold air rushed in, and Draco, in a direct line to the door, shivered at the draft. A man came in, stamping his boots and quickly shutting the door behind him. He pulled off his hat, turned, and stared at Draco. 

Draco stared back at Mr. Weasley. He had the brief, absurd picture of the situation in reverse, walking into Malfoy Manor to find Mr. Weasley seated at the dining table, surrounded by crystal goblets and bejeweled cutlery.

“Arthur, is that you?” Mrs. Weasley called from the living room. 

There were quick steps as she hurried to greet her husband. Draco stared as they embraced, in clear view of anyone who cared to walk through the open doorway to the living room. Such open affection was considered gauche in high society. He quickly looked back to his soup as they kissed, and tried not to hear their quiet conversation. They only exchanged a few, hushed lines, and then Mrs. Weasley raised her voice back to normal, offering her husband a bite to eat. Draco tensed as Mr. Weasley accepted. He pulled out a chair at the head of the table, only one empty seat between them. Draco tried not to look over at him, but he couldn’t help it. Their eyes met. 

“You look better than when we found you,” he said.

Draco blinked. “Found me?” He sudden realized he didn’t know how he’d gotten to the Burrow. There’d been a battle, and Kingsley was injured, but he didn’t remember anything afterwards. 

“We found you in Diagon Alley. You must be quite the duelist when you can hold your wand steady.”

Draco’s mind flashed to a desperate attack against figures coming towards him in the snow. He felt his face flush. “I thought you were Death Eaters.”

To be specific, he thought it was Lucius, coming to Apparate him away.

Arthur smiled, a gentle smile, much like his wife’s, and then he was distracted by the bowl of soup put in front of him. Mrs. Weasley sat beside him with a cup of tea. Draco pretended not to notice the hand she put on her husband’s knee while he ate.

“Kingsley woke up today,” said Mrs. Weasley.

Draco looked up. “Where is-?” he started, and then her words sunk in. “Today? What do you mean, today?”

“You’ve been here since yesterday,” said Mrs. Weasley. “You slept the whole night and most of the day.”

“It’s Friday?” Draco asked, trying to wrap his head around the fact that he missed an entire day.

“Your temperature was dangerously low,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Your body needed to recover.”

But still, a whole day?

“You said Kingsley’s awake,” said Draco, focusing on the important thing.

“He was awake. He’s sleeping again. You can see him tomorrow when he wakes up.”

“But he’s okay?” 

“He’ll heal up fine, thanks to you. Right now, he’s weak and largely immobile, but he’ll be right as rain in a day or two.” 

Draco nodded, pleased at the news but irked he couldn’t ascertain his partner’s condition himself. He turned back to his meal, not bothering to tip the broth to avoid the occasional slurp. He would finish the meal and then figure out where they were keeping Kingsley. It wasn’t like he’d broken visiting regulations before.

“How long have you been partnered with Kingsley?”

Draco looked over. Mr. Weasley was watching him, his expression casually interested. Draco knew the look was forced. He knew everyone was dying to know how he, Draco Malfoy, ended up in the Investigation and Retrieval Squad of the Auror Department with none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt as his partner.

“A while.” He hoped the short answer would dissuade any further inquiries.

“You’re a little young to be an Auror. Recruits are entering the Academy at your age, not carrying a detective’s badge.”

“There were circumstances,” said Draco. 

Dumbledore had asked the same questions when he had arrived at Hogwarts, not two months ago, to investigate a series of attacks on the students. Draco wondered if Ginny had written her parents about that fiasco. She might not have had opportunity. Even with Dolores Umbridge gone, those students who were believed to be allied with Potter were under close watch from the Ministry and the Death Eaters.

Mr. Weasley looked to his wife. Draco looked back down at his soup.

“Ginny wrote.”

Or not.

Draco looked up again, this time at Mrs. Weasley.

“Not much. It’s hard to get word, but you threw Dolores Umbridge out of Hogwarts, didn’t you?”

Draco gave a one shouldered shrug. “Ms. Umbridge broke the law. The proper actions were taken.”

More silence. Draco finished his soup and drank the rest of his milk.

“Would you like anything else?” Mrs. Weasley asked.

“No, but thank you.”

Draco stood and started gathering his dishes. He knew, from dining at Kingsley’s, that it was polite in middle-class society to clear one’s place when finished with a meal. Kingsley had also told him it was polite to offer to help wash the dishes, and that a proper host would deny any assistance from a guest. Kingsley himself was not a proper host because he always made Draco help with the dishes, but then again, they were partners. Draco had noticed that family and close friends often helped out after a meal. It was…friendly, he supposed.

“Oh, sit down, dear, and finish your tea,” said Mrs. Weasley. She jumped to her feet and whisked the dishes from his hands faster than any house elf Draco had encountered. He sat as bidden though. There was an odd chill when he stood, removing himself even slightly from the fire. Why was it so frigid in this house? No one else seemed chilled. Mr. Weasley had even taken off his jumper, leaving himself in a regular button-down shirt.

Draco finished his tea, relieved that Mr. Weasley asked no more questions. Once he was finished, though, Mr. Weasley stood and motioned for him to do likewise.

Draco warily got to his feet. Mr. Weasley gave him a tight smile. “Suppose we ought to introduce ourselves right.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Arthur.”

Draco was surprised that he introduced himself with his first name, but then again, he wasn’t a student anymore. He was a Detective-Auror. He shook his hand cautiously. “Draco.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said Arthur, and Draco was surprised to realize the Weasley patriarch actually meant it.

“Follow me, and I’ll introduce you to the Order members stationed here."

Arthur led him into the living room. “There’s not many of us here. We’ve been finding it hard to travel, but we’ll see if Christmas doesn’t slacken the patrols a bit.” 

It wouldn’t. The Dark Lord knew the enemy he was fighting: sentimental, loving people. If anything, the patrols would be heightened, looking for the resistance fighters who just wanted to make it home for the holidays. Draco didn’t share his insight with the others, doubting such news would be welcome. Let them hope, he decided.

“You know Remus already, I believe,” said Arthur, starting the introductions.

The werewolf was sitting on the couch, his arm around the pink-haired woman. He looked much like he had at Hogwarts, thin and weary, but he was smiling widely, or he had been, but Draco's presence had wiped the grin away. Still, the former professor managed a quirk of the lips.

“Remus was the one who tracked you and Kingsley through the blizzard. He’s got a good nose for magical signatures.”

Draco gave a short nod. “My thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Lupin said, returning the civility.

“The woman next to him is –,”

“Tonks,” the pink-haired woman interrupted. She snapped a piece of gum as bright as her hair and slouched further on the couch. “Just Tonks. So, you’re the cousin I never met, huh?” She raised black eyebrows and stared, embodying the teenager Draco wasn’t.

“Undoubtedly my mother wished to keep your manners from rubbing off on me.” Draco snapped his mouth shut as soon as he said the words. He had a bad habit of ‘snark’ as Kingsley called it.

There was a heavy pause in the room. Draco was suddenly thankful he felt so cold. No blood rushed to his cheeks. Flushing easily was the curse of fair skin.

Tonks laughed, breaking the silence. It was a surprisingly attractive laugh, not that Tonks wasn’t attractive, but the short, pink hair, and the juvenile make-up, and the patched jeans took away from her even, pleasing features. Draco could see the Black in her. The straight, small nose. The regal cheekbones and high plane of her forehead. It was a delicate type of beauty. He could see how she detracted from it.

Draco slid his gaze over to Lupin. He saw the hand that was draped over Tonks’ shoulders, and the way Lupin smiled when Tonks laughed. He’d keep an eye on the werewolf. Family was family, after all, even if he’d never seen her before today.

“And this is my second oldest, Charlie,” Arthur continued. “He works with dragons, or did, until recently.”

Charlie was built more like Mrs. Weasley, shorter and stouter, unlike his father who was tall and thin. His profession was obvious by the muscles in his arms and chest, and from the rough patches of scarred skin where a dragon had gotten too close.

“Nice to meet you.” He half-rose from his chair and stuck out his hand.

Draco took it, half-expecting the Weasley son to squeeze tightly, as a threat or a show of crass masculinity, but while his grip was firm, it wasn’t unduly hard. His hand was rough and heavily calloused.

“I like your name,” said Charlie, sitting back down.

Draco gave a quick smile at the obvious humor. Charlie gave a rueful grin then gestured to the cards on the table.

“Deal you in next hand,” he offered.

It was Back-Snap, by the look of the layout. Draco shook his head.

“My thanks, but no. I’m afraid I would make a poor opponent tonight.”

“Poor boy is exhausted,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Come on, now. Let’s get you off to bed.”

Draco had a sudden feeling of déjà vu. He was a child again, being shown off for the guests late at night, and then led back to his nursery to be kept out of sight. But his governesses had never guided him so gently. They always dragged him by the hand while he strained to look back at the pretty lights and colors of the party. And his governesses had never pulled back the blankets so he could crawl into bed, or settled them gently over him with a motherly pat to the head and a soft “Sleep tight now.”

Weird, he thought to himself. He just managed to remember to set an hourglass charm.

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 19th  
10:02 pm**

“He seems harmless,” said Molly as they sat around the living room after the last broadcast of Potterwatch.

“You didn’t see his repelling charm,” said Tonks. “Took out the side of the building.” She mimed the impact, hitting her fist into the palm of her hand, and then flicking her fingers out to mimic the explosion. 

“Be as that may, he was extremely polite.” Molly turned to Arthur. “What do you think?”

He thought the boy looked like he was waiting for a boggart to climb out of the nearest closet. “Yes, very polite,” he said honestly. The Malfoy boy had manners, if nothing else.

Tonks snorted. “Probably because he thought you’d hex him into next week if he so much as sneezed.”

Molly straightened the pillow beside her with a sniff. “We would do no such thing.”

“Do you think he knows that?” Tonks asked. “He probably grew up hearing horror stories about your family.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nymphadora.” 

“Like you didn’t tell your kids about how awful Lucius Malfoy was, about how he had prisoners in his dungeons and went about pillaging villages?” Tonks challenged.

Arthur remembered quite a few rants about Lucius Malfoy. While he didn’t think he went as far as 'pillaging villages', he probably did tell his children to stay away from the Malfoys because they wouldn’t hesitate to murder or torture for their own gain. Still, he didn’t think the reverse could be as frightening. What could Lucius possibly tell his son? That the Weasley family believed in equality and honesty? That they wouldn’t hesitate to help anyone in need?

Molly sniffed again, but made no comment. Arthur kept trying to think of their family from Lucius Malfoy’s point of view, but didn’t think he could quite get the grasp of it.

“I think the point to consider,” said Remus, deciding to play peacekeeper, “is that Draco Malfoy seems to be quite well-behaved for now, and we might try to make him feel more comfortable. After all, there are six of us and we all are much older than he is. Even if he wasn’t Lucius's son, there would be some awkwardness purely from the age-gap.”

Remus had a point. Draco Malfoy was only seventeen, and the closest to his age was Charlie, who had him beat by eight years.

“Perhaps we could plan a few activities, or bring out the Christmas decorations,” said Molly. “I know none of us are in the mood to celebrate, but we have guests, and some Christmas cheer might be just what we need.”

The others nodded, and Arthur felt a stirring of resolution himself. It wouldn’t be a great holiday, but that didn’t mean they should let Christmas pass uncelebrated. After all, it was the season for miracles, and they’d need one more than ever this year. 

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 20th  
12:01 am**

Draco woke at midnight, groggy and disoriented, and he nearly ended the alarm-clock charm and went right back to sleep, but then he remembered who it was set for, and suddenly he was wide awake and sitting up in bed. He still had the socks and jumper on, but crawling from under the covers was painfully cold. He grabbed the duvet from the bed and wrapped it around him to ward off the late-night chill. He silently opened the door and peered out. The lights were off. No one was about.

Draco cast a quick locate charm and followed the beacon down the hall and then up a narrow, very creaky flight of stairs. After the second step, he cast a muffling spell. The charm led him to a room on the second floor. He cautiously opened the door and peeked in. A lumos charm illuminated his partner lying in bed, covers pulled up to his waist. Kingsley looked to be sleeping calmly, and he didn't appear to be in any pain, but his chest was wrapped heavily. Draco remembered the gash in his chest. He remembered torn flesh and visible bone. He remembered the blood.

He stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. A faltered step brought him to Kingsley’s side. He watched him breathe for a moment, chest rising and falling without issue. The image of the battle was still hard to get out of his head. He dropped into the large armchair that was pulled up to Kingsley’s bedside. He’d wait for a few minutes, just to make sure Kingsley was resting comfortably. 

It was hard to keep his head up though, hard to keep his eyes open. And he was so cold. He pulled up his feet and twisted, using the armrest as a pillow. He was tall, but still young enough to curl up in small spaces. He tucked the duvet tight around him and watched his partner breathe, in and out, without trouble. It was a relief.

Somewhere, in between noting the inhale and exhale, he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I'm realizing that I'm enjoying editing this story because Christmas is going to be rough this year for a lot of us, myself included. Anyone else barricaded indoors without company? At least we can be alone together, lol. Please leave a review on the way out!


	3. Fears and Apprehensions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing has changed in terms of who owns Harry Potter....

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 20th  
8:12 am**

“Arthur! He’s gone!”

Arthur looked up from his coffee as Molly ran into the kitchen, startling all those gathered. “What?” 

“The Malfoy boy. He’s not in Ginny's room anymore.”

Arthur put his cup down and frowned. “Where would he go?”

“Do you think he left?” asked Remus.

Charlie shrugged. “Maybe he just went home.” He shoveled another bite of eggs into his mouth. He was on his second plate of breakfast.

“I’ll check,” said Tonks, getting up from the table. “Do we know where he lives?”

Arthur pushed his plate to the side. “We have anti-Apparation wards. He’d need to use the Floo to get home.”

“I’ll see if it’s been used recently,” said Tonks.

“I’ll check the grounds,” said Remus. “He might have gotten confused or wandered off.”

“He was chilled, not delirious,” said Arthur. “Wherever he went, he was conscious of his choice.”

His words made the table fall silent. Arthur hadn’t meant to suggest the worst-case scenario; it was a simple observation. But now they were all thinking it.

“The Death Eaters have been looking for us,” said Molly quietly.

“He can’t have gotten far, and he must have left tracks behind.” Remus hurried for the door. 

“I’ll check the house,” said Molly. “Maybe he was simply sleeping walking. Charlie, check the attic. But be quiet on the stairs so you don’t disturb Kingsley. He needs his rest.”

The four dispersed, leaving Arthur alone at the table. He picked up his cup of coffee and wandered down the hall to Ginny’s room. He peered in, not expecting to find Draco, but wondering if there was some sort of clue to his disappearance. For a moment, he simply regarded the room. Everything seemed in place, except for Ginny’s duvet. That was missing. He turned and headed for the staircase.

Percy’s room was on the second floor. He slowly turned the knob and pushed the door open, trying to avoid any creaks. Kingsley was still on his bed, asleep, and across the room was Draco Malfoy, curled up on the oversized armchair, wrapped in the missing comforter. They both appeared to be resting peacefully, but the armchair looked uncomfortable. Arthur set his coffee down on the dresser and quietly crossed the room. 

It was a simple spell to transfigure the chair into a bed, one that he was quite adept at. Molly used to fall asleep in that chair as all six of their boys had been colicky as infants. Ginny had been perfectly healthy. Arthur slipped his hand under Draco’s head as he did, so the boy wouldn’t wake at the sudden disappearance of the armrest. There was a spare pillow beside the bed. He settled Draco’s head on the cushion.

Draco stirred slightly. His hand rose and wrapped around Arthur’s wrist. It wasn’t tight grip, but Arthur still froze.

“ _Sodes, commodo_.”

The words were thick with sleep, the pronunciation slurred, and Draco didn’t open his eyes. They were Old Latin, and Arthur had to think back to his tutor when he was young child. The classes had been discontinued early on because the High Language was dying out. He hadn’t thought it was spoken anymore.

“ _Mea culpa, Mater. Sodes…commodo._ ”

Draco stirred again, tossing his head to the side restlessly. A furrow appeared between his brows and his lips pursued. 

“ _Peto somnus_ ,” Arthur whispered, hoping he was conjugating correctly. The High Language wasn’t perfect Latin; there were just enough changes to be difficult. “ _Somnus. Vos es inreprehensa._ ”

He didn’t know if his words were recognized or if Draco simply fell further into sleep, but the brow smoothed and Draco’s hand dropped back. Arthur pulled the duvet down over his feet and then turned. He met a concerned dark gaze.

“What did he say?” asked Kingsley in a whisper.

Arthur shook his head. “Just rambling.”

“Arthur,” said Kingsley, “he’s my partner. I can’t understand him when he talks in his sleep, not ever, but you just did. What did he say?”

Arthur cast one more look on the sleeping boy. “He was asking his mother to stay. He said it was his fault.”

“What did you say back?”

“I told him to go to sleep, that he wasn’t to blame.”

From Kingsley’s reaction, a sigh and a nod, he’d handled it right.

“Did his mother leave?” Arthur found himself asking.

Kingsley paused before answering. “After Lucius’ imprisonment, she retired to Serenity Palace.”

Arthur had heard of the resort. It masqueraded as a therapeutic rejuvenation center, but it was more of a spa that was specifically catered to wealthy women who fancied themselves “distraught”. It was almost fashionable to play the overwrought socialite and take a trip to these centers. Arthur knew what the real problem was. These were women with too much ambition to be content as a trophy wife, but didn’t have the courage and drive to pursue an active, fulfilling life.

“And now?” Arthur asked. Lucius Malfoy had been released from Azkaban over half a year ago.

“She left the country,” said Kingsley with a shrug that made him wince. “And she told him it was his fault for making her choose between her husband and her son.”

“But she didn’t choose,” said Arthur.

Kingsley snorted. “Yes, she did. She chose herself.”

Arthur nodded. “And Lucius?”

Kingsley rolled his eyes and pushed himself up against his pillow. “Can’t you guess?”

His tone was disapproving but Arthur wasn’t going to be swayed. “We couldn’t find him this morning. I didn’t think he’d left but my wife lives in this house, Kingsley. I have one son safe here at home. I need to know that it will stay safe."

He saw the Auror soften at his reasoning. Kingsley sighed, but spoke. “Lucius disapproves. He hasn’t disowned his son, but only because he doesn’t have another heir. He’s been trying to get his hands on him, to change his mind or force him to recant or cast the Imperius if all else fails. There are ways of making an heir compliant. Potions and spells. Blood magic.” Kingsley let out another sigh. “Lucius tried to get him during the battle. I got him out. Lucius gave me this.” 

Kingsley gestured to his chest, and Arthur sucked in a breath.

“I don’t know if –,” Kingsley cut himself off and glanced Draco’s way. Arthur did as well. The boy was still sleeping. Kingsley continued. “I don’t know if he realized Lucius was there, and even if he did, I don’t know if he realized Lucius was the one who hit me. I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

Arthur met his gaze and nodded. He’d seen Draco’s devotion to his partner; it would no doubt be hard on the boy if he realized Kingsley was injured on his behalf, and from his own father no less. If Kingsley wanted to spare him the guilt, Arthur would as well.

Kingsley gave him a wry smile. “Thanks. We, the IRS, have been keeping an eye on him. It became a lot easier once he was sworn in as a Detective.”

“And what made him take the oath?

Kingsley’s smile grew into a grin. “Honestly, he was bored. And he’s got a knack for solving mysteries, and he’d already been consulting with us. And because we like him. We didn’t really let him say no, truth be told, but that’s just because he likes being contrary so much he probably would have refused just to prove a point.”

Arthur was surprised at the fondness in Kingsley’s voice. And the familiarity. But it made him believe that Draco Malfoy’s conversion had been a true change, not a way to ingratiate himself with the Order. If it had been a ploy, his actions would have been much more obvious.

“He’s a good kid,” said Kingsley, obviously trying to get Arthur to warm to his partner.

Arthur gave a nod and a smile. “He was very polite last night.”

Kingsley suddenly looked worried. “He woke-up last night?”

“Yes. Woke up for a short time and had some dinner.”

“He didn’t… he behaved himself?”

Arthur chuckled. “I thought you said he was a good kid.”

“He is,” Kingsley asserted. “He can just be… a little difficult at times.”

“Aren’t all teenagers?” Arthur had seven children after all, and two were still in the dreaded stage.

“I wouldn’t know,” said Kingsley. “I remember being quite well-behaved at that age.”

The two men exchanged a look and a grin.

“Can I get you anything, Kingsley? Molly just made breakfast.”

“I would love some.”

“Should I bring up two plates?” Arthur asked. Draco had slept through the transfiguration, but the smell of food might rouse him.

Kingsley shook his head. “He’s tired. He’ll wake-up when he’s ready.”

Arthur nodded. He grabbed his coffee on the way out and nearly ran into four figures in the hall.

Tonks looked disgusted with herself. “I should have guessed,” she said, as they all traveled back downstairs. “I’m an Auror myself. You always look for your partner.”

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 20th  
8:33 am**

Kingsley turned to his partner once Arthur had left. 

“Draco,” he said.

At his name, Draco stirred, rolling onto his side, towards Kingsley’s voice. Bleary eyes fluttered open then shut again.

Kingsley didn’t know how his partner did it. Draco could sleep through anything, in any environment. He’d once slept through a mock battle between Pat and Delia at the office, only stirring and groaning when a wayward spell hit his desk, incinerating his paperwork. But say his name, and it was like tossing flossweed into moonstone. Instant reaction. Of course, when he was really tired, it took his name being called twice.

“Draco,” Kingsley repeated.

Draco groaned, but his eyes opened again. This time they focused.

“Kings?” 

“Yeah. How are you feeling?”

Draco rubbed his eyes with one hand. “S’my question, innit?” he asked thickly.

“I have seniority.” 

“Mmmf,” Draco muttered. He pushed himself up in the bed, and then looked down at the transfigured chair in confusion. On most people, that meant a knit brow. On Draco, it looked as if the chair had suddenly insulted him.

“You scared the folks downstairs when they couldn’t find you this morning,” said Kingsley.

Draco sat up fully and tugged the duvet to wrap it around his shoulders. He stumbled out of bed to prop himself against Kingsley’s mattress. He stared, blinking down at his partner, the consternation on his face increasing.

“Go back to bed,” said Kingsley. It was obvious his partner still needed sleep.

“You’re okay.” Draco said it like a statement, but he waited for confirmation.

“I’m okay.” 

Draco nodded slowly. “We’re in the Weasley’s house. I think I had dinner.”

Kingsley watched as he raised a hand to rub at his eyes again. His face twisted with sleep-disorientation and a small bit of petulance.

“It’s weird,” he informed Kingsley. “I don’t…," and then he trailed off and his head nodded forward and if he had been able to move, Kingsley would have simply picked him up and put him back into the bed. As it was, he pointed.

“Draco. Bed.”

Draco turned to look at the bed then swung his head back around. “You’re okay?” It was a real question this time.

“I’m alright, Draco. I’ll be fine.”

Draco nodded and then nearly fell onto the transfigured armchair. He raised his head once to level a stare at Kingsley. “Don’t leave me here,” he ordered. And then he grabbed the pillow to curl up around it, quilt still wrapped around him. Kingsley heard one more muffled “Weird” and then Draco was asleep again.

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 20th  
11:37 am**

Draco woke up slowly. He was no longer freezing and his brain was finally firing correctly. He opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and remembered where he was, and why, and who he was with. He resisted the urge to groan at the circumstances that led him here and instead looked over to the bed where his partner was laying.  
Kingsley wasn't there.

Many partners in the IRS would panic after an occurrence such as this. Despite being highly trained, intelligent, and capable men and women, the detectives in the IRS seemed unable to handle any form of unexpected separation. Draco had seen Will tear through St. Mungo’s in nothing more than a flimsy hospital gown and hippogriff slippers in search of Pat. Ellington once barged into a Wizengamot trial to interrogate Buchannan on the location of his better half Delia. Even shy, self-conscious Penelope had let loose with a string of curse words and nearly attacked an II agent when Gordon Harding was misplaced during an inter-departmental bust.

Draco, however, was not the average Detective-Auror. He was a fully independent, confident Auror who didn’t need to know where his partner was every single minute of every single day. The unease he was feeling and the twinge in his temples were purely due to the fact that he was residing at the Weasley’s, not because his partner wasn’t where he had left him.

He rolled out of bed, only pausing to cast a quick freshening charm on himself and a straightening charm on his clothes. It didn’t have much effect on the cotton pants and baggy jumper, but at least he felt, and smelled, cleaner.

This time, when he set out to face a herd of Gryffindors completely unaided, he didn’t hesitate at the door. He encountered the first on the stairs, Charlie. The red-head looked up, startled to see him, but then gave an easy grin. Draco stared back and by the time he managed to force his lips into a semblance of a smile, the man had already gone.

A little perturbed at the friendly gesture, Draco continued down the stairs. At the bottom he nearly ran into Remus Lupin who was spelling a large box in front of him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” said Lupin. “How are you feeling today?”

Draco blinked, nodded, and managed to formulate an articulate response. “Good.” 

“You look better today,” Lupin said, and then continued charming the box down the hall.

Draco followed and neatly side-stepped Tonks as she passed through, calling up the stairs for Charlie. Apparently they’d found the lights, whatever that meant.

There was a flurry of activity in the kitchen. Molly Weasley was directing bowls and spoons and various ingredients with the efficacy of the six house elves in the Malfoy kitchen. Draco quickly slipped by, off-put by the bustle and really just wanting to find Kingsley. He ducked into the living room and found his partner in a plush armchair, wrapped in a colorful afghan, with a cup of tea in his hands. His feet were propped up on a footstool and he was listening to the radio with Arthur Weasley.

Draco leveled a glare at his partner for not being where he had left him in the morning. 

“Morning, Sunshine,” Kingsley greeted with a smile, not at all perturbed at Draco’s frown.

“Closer to afternoon,” said Arthur. “I trust you slept well, Draco?”

Draco wiped the glare from his face. “Yes, my thanks.”

“There’s more tea in the pot, if you’d like," said Arthur, gesturing to the coffee table set with a tea tray. “Lunch will only be a few minutes.” 

Draco glanced at the clock, surprised that it was already so late. Apparently freezing to death sapped a lot of energy. With nothing better to do, he sat across from his partner. He toyed with the notion of pouring himself a cup of tea, if only to keep occupied, and then spotted the newspaper beside the tray.

He picked it up, smoothing the folds that had been crumpled through multiple readings, and then surveyed the front article. As expected, the headline proclaimed that the “Potter Radicals” who were planning to seize the government and release the “magic-stealing mudbloods” had been apprehended and thrown out of the IRS. The entire division had been erased and instead the “Magical Preservation Society” would rule in its place.

“The whole Auror department is gone,” said Kingsley. There was a grim, somber note in his voice. “They’re not keeping any form of law enforcement; it’s just the Magical Preservatives.”

“Proper recognition should be given to magical preservatives,” said Draco, turning over to the crossword. “Without them, we would have no blood-orange marmalade.”

Kingsley smiled, used to Draco’s flippancy when it came to serious matters. Arthur Weasley chuckled, which had Draco glancing up in surprise. He returned to the puzzle, not attempting to fill the crossword out, but reading through the clues. Ellington was horrible with anything sports related, but he was able to fill in even the most obscure historic reference.

“How much do you want to bet he's stuck on 33 down?” Kingsley asked, seeing where his attention was.

Draco folded the paper over. He’d seen Ellington get hit before Apparating away with Kingsley. He looked over to Arthur Weasley.

“Have there been any details released about the attack?” 

Arthur shook his head. “No fatalities have been reported, although a few IRS Aurors were apprehended. No names yet.”

“They’re smart,” said Kingsley. “They can get off with a lie or two. They won’t be sent to Azkaban at any rate. That’s being saved for vocal Dumbledore and Potter supporters, not Aurors with morals.”

Draco shook his head. “Yaxley has a vendetta against Buchannan. If he –,”

“He wasn’t,” said Kingsley.

“He was hit. Ellington as well and Penelope was down. The entire wing was sabotaged.”

“I know.” 

“They took out the Floo. They were starting to set up anti-Apparation wards in the middle of the fight.”

“I know.”

“They disabled the Portkeys, and Merlin knows who they got to in order to take those out. And the main safehouse was gone, which is why I didn’t try the secondary site. But if the others –,” 

“Hey, Sunshine,” Kingsley interrupted him. “If you figured it out, they probably did too. Who’s the rookie on the team?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Please. I’ve been dueling since I was ten.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been an Auror since you were seven. Relax. The Ministry’s not going to be able to hold onto any of our detectives. If anything, they’d drive the Death Eaters nuts within the first hour. It’s a miracle you’re still sane after hanging out with us as long as you have.” 

“I won’t argue with that,” said Draco. He set the paper back on the table, not ready to see what else had gone wrong since the elimination of the Auror department. He made a face at the radio. “Can’t you find anything better to listen to?”

It was, of course, the Potterwatch station.

“Better get used to it,” said Kingsley. “You’re one of us now.”

There was a sobering thought. One of them. It was impossible to recover from an entire childhood of bigotry in the space of two years, and the gut reaction to those words was still strong: nausea and distaste.

It wasn’t just the Pureblood rhetoric that created such a divide. It wasn’t just the fact that the Weasley’s interacted with Muggle-borns that made them so detestable. The Weasley’s embodied concepts like loyalty and bravery and selflessness. Draco had grown up believing that the exact opposites were virtues. Money, prestige, and power were the pillars of the Malfoy family. All else was folly. Utter stupidity. Contrary to survival. Those who gave alms and charity, those who cared for the ill and injured, those who strove for peace and understanding, were simply dreamers who were prolonging the disease of the weak. If they continued their road of protecting the weak, then let them bow with the weak. The strong would rule. It could be no other way, should be no other way.

Assisting the Aurors, and eventually joining them, had been quite the culture shock, one to which he was slowly adapting. While he could see the change in himself, and accepted the change, he didn’t think he was really ready to be “one of them.”

So Draco turned up his nose and sniffed. “Just because I am temporarily clothed in the manner of your usual acquaintances does not mean you should consider me so affiliated.”

Kingsley laughed, as expected, and then winced in discomfort, which Draco hadn’t intended. 

Arthur Weasley cleared his throat apologetically. “You may have to wear some of our boys’ spare clothes for a while longer.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. Kingsley spoke up.

“Death Eaters burned your flat down.”

It took a moment for Kingsley’s words to sink in. His flat. His home. The place he had picked for himself, the place he had decorated, the place he had taken refuge in, and kept hidden, the place that held all his worldly goods. Burnt down. 

He blinked. “I see.”

There was a pause as Kingsley and Arthur waited for his reaction. If it were only Kingsley, Draco might swear and Apparate over to assess the damage himself. He’d keep up a running string of curses and vow retribution, and Kingsley would accompany him, and listen and nod, and let him vent. And afterwards, Kingsley would put a hand on his shoulder, and say something sympathetic, and then he’d be bunking with Kingsley for a while. But Kingsley was injured, and couldn’t move, and Arthur Weasley was watching, so Draco reverted to his Pureblood mannerisms, which always, always, required some form of blasé nonchalance. 

Instead of swearing, he shrugged. “Well, I suppose I couldn’t keep it hidden forever. And I suppose it’s a natural reaction for them – the burning, that is. They do have an affinity for flames after all, the whole ‘hell’ motif they strive to emulate.” But now that he started talking, it was difficult to stop. The words continued to tumble out of his mouth. “It’s overdone, of course. Honestly, I don’t think the Dark Lord can really pull off a ‘Supreme Evil’ character. He’s too obsessed with power. Any true figure of evil would simply wish for anarchy, not a dictatorship. Although, considering the culture of the ancient –,”

“A few things were saved,” Kingsley interrupted him.

Draco blinked again, and then leveled a glare at Kingsley. “Something you want to tell me, _partner_?” 

If he emphasized the last word, it was only because Kingsley had stressed to him that partnership entailed absolute honesty. Draco was beginning to think that his partner was conning him. Even if it was “for his own good”, as Kingsley often protested, Draco didn’t appreciate it. Everything he knew about trusting a partner had to be taught to him, spelled out to him, really, and Kingsley had done so, patiently and kindly. Draco had trusted Kingsley, just like Kingsley told him. 

“I had to consider the possibility that I would be targeted and killed,” Kingsley said in the same direct manner he had explained the rules of partnership to Draco. “I didn’t like the idea of you being alone, not with…,” and here Kingsley paused and Draco knew what he meant. Not with his father hunting him down to return him to the family fold.

Kingsley pushed on. “Due to current circumstances, I didn’t like the idea of you being unprotected, with no one to turn to.”

“Because a squad of Investigation and Retrieval Aurors counts as no one.” The sarcasm in his voice was obvious. 

“The IRS had been losing power and the only people with a coherent battle plan were in the Order. I wanted to know that you would be looked after, so I gave Dumbledore the address of your flat in case there was an emergency.

Draco expected that Lucius would sell Draco if the price was high enough, say for his own life. He expected that Narcissa would leave when it suited her. He didn’t expect Kingsley to give him up so easily though.

“You told?” he blurted out. “You swore –,” The words failed him. He felt a little numb. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair.

“I swore to keep it a secret, but first and foremost, as your partner, I swore to look out for you. Your safety and well-being comes first, and it always will. Even if you don’t like it.”

Draco didn’t like it. Hated it in fact. The idea that Dumbledore or the Order could have accessed his flat, his home, anytime they would have liked…

“It was only for an emergency,” said Kingsley. “Your wards sent an alarm early this morning, before I got up. Dumbledore got some of your things and brought them over this morning. He couldn’t save it lot, but he got the important things.” 

“They’re in Ginny’s room, if you’d like to check,” Arthur said. 

Draco would like to check, and it gave him the opportunity to leave. He was better thinking through his feelings when he was alone.

Sometimes he thought Kingsley might be a bit more Slytherin than his partner would like to admit. While that thought gave him some satisfaction, it also meant he would have to rethink his association with Kingsley. He didn’t know if he could trust him so much anymore. Not if it meant these sorts of surprises.

Draco closed the door to Ginny’s room and walked over to the bags on the bed. The first was his school bag, not that anyone would know what was inside. It was simply an official looking briefcase. He took it on stakeouts with him and only Kingsley knew he was studying for his NEWTs independently, not catching up on paperwork. The other bag was a large broomkit duffle. The kit had been emptied and some clothes were folded inside. Not a lot of clothes, but some staple items. His Auror's certificate and his commendation from the Minister were placed carefully inside. His dress uniform was there as well and a few things off of his desk. His account book from Gringotts. His dueling trophy and gold quill set. And there, at the bottom…

His breath caught as he reached for the picture frame. He kept this buried in his sock drawer, only pulling it out on occasion. Draco turned the frame over and stared at the picture inside. It was a rare, unprofessional photo of his family, no doubt snapped by some newspaper reporter whose camera was then confiscated because Lucius didn’t like to have candid photos taken. He didn’t like not being able to control his image. But this picture was harmless, and Lucius had let Draco take it with him to Hogwarts.

It was taken after one of Draco’s dueling tournaments. He’d won first place in his age group and then placed third among the final, competing against teenagers five years older than him. The picture was taken while leaving the winner’s box. Draco was carrying a large trophy and was wearing a brightly colored sash. Narcissa was carrying his other trophy and Lucius was smiling, reaching out to clap an approving hand on his shoulder. The picture captured that movement over and over, and Narcissa smiled indulgently down at the younger Draco who was jumping down from the stand, unable to keep the grin off his face. 

Draco sat on the bed and held the photo in his hands. He traced a fingertip over the protective glass covering. Some days, his chest ached oddly at the picture, hence its place in his sock drawer. Other days, it made him want to smile.

“I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries,” said Kingsley from the doorway.

Draco didn’t start, although he was surprised he didn’t hear the door open. He gave a wry grimace but remained silent.

“If I ever break your trust, it’s only because I’m looking out for you.” 

“And that’s something I’m just supposed to accept?” Draco asked.

“It’s something partners do. It doesn’t always work out for the best, but it’s always with the best intentions.”

“There’s a saying about best intentions.” 

“I know. But I made this decision because I would rather have you angry with me then have be on your own, facing down your family or worse.”

“So you assumed you know what was best for me.” 

Kingsley gestured to the photo in his hands. “I think I proved that I did know best.”

Draco found he couldn’t argue that point. He sighed. “You could have at least discussed it with me.” 

“Would you have let me give Dumbledore your address?” Kingsley countered.

Draco wanted to say yes, just to prove his point, but it would be an obvious lie. “Just… ask me next time,” he finally capitulated. “I’ll try to listen.”

Kingsley nodded. “I can do that.” 

Draco turned the photograph over in his hands. “Anything else you want to tell me while we’re coming clean?”

He didn’t look at his partner, but from his periphery he could see Kingsley shift to lean against the wall. His arms crossed. “Not that I can think of. Unless there’s something you want to tell me?”

Draco paused a moment. The words wanted to say felt heavy, too heavy to speak. He slipped the photograph back in the bag. “No, I suppose not.”

“Come on, lunch is ready.”

Draco followed him out to the hall. “You know, you really shouldn’t be walking around.” 

“I’m recovering well.”

“Your upright position could be interfering with your circulation. You should be seated, or lying prone.”

“I said I’m fine.” 

“I think this is one of the cases where I have your best interests in mind.”

“Don’t count on it, Sunshine.” 

“If I were to immobilize you, right now, it’s because I care about you.” 

“Draco,” Kingsley warned.

“In fact, I’d rather have you angry with me, than have you undergo surgery for the damage you’re causing to yourself right now.”

Kingsley stopped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Draco raised his eyebrow. “Care to try me? Or will you go back to your chair like a good patient?”

Kingsley returned to his chair, obviously not wanting to test his partner. Draco took pity on him and took lunch with him in the living room. It was not because the tableful of Gryffindors intimidated him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas Eve! Hope you are able to have a happy, healthy holiday!


	4. The Christmas Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, still don't own Harry Potter. Please read yet another disclaimer at the end of the chapter.

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 21st  
8:30 am **

“Draco.”

His name filtered through layers of sleep. His mind groggily turned over, thoughts and feelings beginning to spark into awareness. He was tired. It felt early. He wanted to go back to bed. Still, it was Kingsley’s voice, and it might be something important, so he rolled towards the sound and opened his eyes.

“What?” he groaned.

“Time to get up. You’ve got places to be.”

Draco blinked. Places to be?

“You’re going to pick out a Christmas tree,” said Kingsley with a grin. “Cut it down and everything.”

Draco blinked. “Why, in the name of Merlin, would I want to do that?” 

Kingsley just grinned wider. “Because it’s fun. And because I can’t go. Molly won't let me leave the house for another day, even though I am completely recovered. See?” He pin-wheeled his arm as a demonstration. There was no grimace at the pull of his chest.

“Congratulations,” said Draco. “Please inform our hosts that I will not be attending this outing. And that there’s no need to hold breakfast for me. I will be resting until noon.” He rolled back over.

He wasn’t surprised when Kingsley yanked the pillow out from under his head. “Nope. You need to get out of this place.”

Draco cursed at the ceiling. “No argument here.” 

Kingsley tossed the pillow at him. “You need some exercise and fresh air. What every growing boy needs.”

“I’m an adult.”

“And we can’t have you sitting all gloom and doom in here. It’s Christmas. We need to celebrate.”

“I was under the impression that the Order residents of this… abode weren’t even going to celebrate this year until our arrival. I see no need in joining an obviously staged production of holiday merriment.” 

“It’s not staged, Draco.” Kingsley knelt by the bed, his voice growing softer. “Arthur and Molly will be unable to celebrate with their children this year, due to the war. Bill and Fleur might be able to make it, but Fred and George are stuck in their shop and Ginny can’t leave Hogwarts for fear of being picked up once she’s off school grounds. They don’t even know where Ron is right now, for all they know he could be imprisoned or dead or worse, and the reason they didn’t want to celebrate is to avoid the painful reminder that they are helpless to care for their children. But now they’re doing their best to make us feel comfortable and welcomed. I know I’m going to do my damnedest to return the favor. You can sit here, and sulk like teenager if you want. That’s your right. You’re a Detective-Auror and I’m not going to tell you what to do.” 

And then Kingsley stood. “You’re already awake, so you might as well come out for breakfast at the very least. I’ll let you inform our hosts of your decision.”

His partner left, closing the door gently behind him. Draco screwed up his face. Merlin, how did Kingsley make him feel like an arse so easily? Was it an advanced interrogation technique? How come no one had taught him how to do, or at the very least, defend against it? 

“Damnit,” he muttered, but then he pushed himself out of bed and threw on some of his salvaged clothes. He fixed a neutral expression on his face and joined the Order members in the dining room.

“Morning, Draco.” Arthur Weasley greeted him with a nod.

“Hey, cuz!” Tonks said, with much more enthusiasm. “Ready to hunt us a Christmas tree?”

“I was unaware that tracking and capturing were requirements of choosing a tree.” Draco slipped into the seat next to Kingsley who passed him a serving bowl of scrambled eggs. 

“It is if you want to find the right one,” said Tonks.

“Then by all means, I shall be delighted to join the tree-retrieval party,” Draco lied smoothly.

He poured himself a large cup of coffee. He had a feeling might need all the fortification possible if he was spending the morning tramping through the snow.

After a simple but filling breakfast, the Christmas tree party, consisting of Arthur, Charlie, Tonks, Remus and himself, retired to their rooms to pull on thick layers and heavy boots. Before the IRS, Draco had owned no clothes suitable for such an excursion as Malfoys simply didn't play outside in the snow, but winter-gear was necessary for the Aurors. His trousers were thick and spelled to be waterproof. His boots were fur-lined and similarly impervious. His gloves were also lined, and the hat was a simple black knit affair but with the Auror emblem on the front. His long red-leather coat, with the double row of gold buttons down the front, had specific drying and heating charms stitched throughout. In no time, he was standing by the door while Mrs. Weasley gathered up extra winter accessories and handed them out to the others.

“Remus, those gloves simply won’t do. Your fingers will freeze in a minute. Here, take these. They’re Bill's old ones and should fit you fine. Tonks, where is your hat? No matter, here's one for you. Pull it down over your ears. There, is everyone – Charlie, zip all the way up, and have a warming stone for your pockets.” And then she turned to him. “You look very smart in that coat, dear, but are you sure it’s going to be warm enough?”

“They’re charmed, Molly,” said Tonks, jumping to the coat’s defense. “And designed for winter use. He’ll be fine.”

Tonks wasn’t wearing her Auror’s coat, Draco noticed. Instead she wore a puffy purple monstrosity. The hat Molly had given her, a knitted creation of blue and yellow with a gold tassel, clashed horribly with the coat and her hot pink hair. In fact, all of the accessories from the Weasley stock appeared to be brightly colored and decidedly home-made in appearance.

“Well, if you say so,” Molly relented. “But here, you need a scarf.” She draped a truly terrible scarf of orange and blue around his neck. 

Draco managed a nod. “My thanks.”

“Alright. You look all set. Arthur? How about you?”

“Roasting in this get-up,” said Arthur. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

Only an hour? Please let it be only an hour.

Molly laughed. “The last time you were out there ‘til dinner. But don’t keep Draco out past lunch. He’s already been frozen once this week.”

Draco was caught between feeling terror at the fact that he could be out all day in the snow, and feeling strangely touched that his well-being was being monitored so carefully by someone who had no obligation to look after him.

“Will do,” Arthur promised, and then he leaned down and Draco looked away as they kissed. 

The five of them trooped out into the winter morning. The sun was hidden behind a thin layer of clouds, which made the snow bearable to look at. Instead of striking out towards the empty field behind the house, and the trees beyond that, Arthur led them to a shed to the side of the house.

“I have an arrangement with the man across town,” he explained, as he unlocked the door. “We’re allowed to cut down a tree on his property for one of Molly’s birthday cakes. He got the cake last month, so we’ve got free range of his trees. It’s a bit of a trip though, so we’ll have to fly. Any objections?”

Any objections? Merlin, Draco had missed flying. There simply hadn’t been the time for it in the IRS. He’d told Dumbledore, during the Hogwarts fiasco, that he had missed nothing about the school, but the truth of the matter was he desperately wanted to play Quidditch again, or at least have the ability to jump on his broom whenever he wished. He waited with ill-concealed impatience as Mr. Weasley opened the door and retrieved the brooms. They were the saddest, sorriest excuse for flying brooms that Draco had ever seen, actually that was untrue because he had seen Ron flying on one once, but at that moment, Draco would have flown on a homemade mop.

He was handed an old Comet, the bristles sparse at the end and the broomstick notched and chipped, but in his hand, it thrummed with life. The Comets weren’t known for their speed, but they had the best turns and rolls of any model.

“Alright,” said Arthur, re-locking the shed door. “We’re going to have to fly low over the field, and once we hit the woods, we’ll make a large circle towards the northeast. There shouldn’t be any Muggles about, and the nearest home is quite a hike away, but if you see any, signal the others and we’ll try to leave without any need for memory charms.”

Draco nodded and swung his leg over the old broom. He waited for the others to clear out before following after them, subconsciously bringing up the rear, like an escort patrol he sometimes ran for the Head Hunters. The broom was a little shaky, not in any danger of giving out like the one Charlie was riding, but just enough to hinder any of the more complex acrobatics he sometimes flew on his Firebolt. It also bucked when he guided it left.

No matter. Draco was an experienced flyer and could compensate for the touchy broom. He sped up to keep up with the rest of the group and swooped low to the snow-covered ground. He reached out a gloved hand to brush the undisturbed snow as sped past. A wake of snowflakes flew up around him. He didn’t have his flying goggles with him, and the cold air streaming past him and the spray from the snow made his eyes water.

Motion ahead caught his attention. Tonks lowered her broom to brush the snow with her hand as well, but on a second glance, she was scooping up the snow. She caught his gaze, grinned wickedly, and held up a lopsided snowball.

For one moment, Draco thought she planned to throw it at him, but then she raised her finger to her lips and dropped back behind Charlie. Her attack was heralded by a rebel yell as she put on a burst of speed, overtook the dragon-trainer, and lobbed the snowball right into his face. Charlie yelped, rolled, and then straightened his stick, wiping snow from his eyes. Tonks took the opportunity to form another snowball, so by the time Charlie dove for his own ammunition, she was able to fire again.

An impromptu snow battle broke out, Remus joining in as well. It was odd, to say the least. Draco had never seen such childish antics from adults before… well, he had from his co-workers at the IRS, but he’d thought they were somehow the exception to the general adult population. Even Arthur Weasley threw a snowball at his son, and then immediately looked the other way and assumed an innocent expression.

The battle ended when they reached the edge of the woods. Arthur took the lead once more, weaving in and out of the trees with ease. Draco dropped back to the rear once more. They made a large loop through the trees, crossing a small, frozen creek, and then Arthur pulled up and dismounted. Draco followed suit and landed in nearly knee-high snow. Absolutely distasteful. He shouldered his broom and followed the others.

He wasn’t used to walking through so much snow. It would have been difficult to keep up with the others, as they were easily stepping through the drifts, but they stopped frequently to stare at the tress about them. They pointed out a couple here and there, and sometimes circled around them, but Draco didn’t know what they were looking for. And they weren’t walking in any specific direction either. They meandered about the forest, sometimes doubling back on themselves. A shriek had Draco instinctively reaching for his wand, but it was just Tonks who had a branch full of snow dumped on her head. Charlie had pulled on the limb just as Tonks walked under. Draco hefted the broom once more and grimly kept place. He didn’t bother looking at the trees, but he did keep an eye out on the group. He didn’t like the way some would occasionally disappear behind a tree or fallen log or snowdrift. There really wasn’t any cause to worry, but all the same, he made sure everyone re-appeared before moving on.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Tonks called. “See a good tree yet?”

Draco paused and looked at his cousin. She was grinning widely, like she actually enjoyed this sort of excursion.

“Forgive me for not contributing, but I am not well versed in what characteristics of a tree make it ‘good’,” he responded, somewhat snidely.

“Aw, lighten up, cuz. This is fun.” She spread her arms wide and gestured around them.

Draco chose not to comment, instead he started forward again, walking past her. Charlie had stopped to laugh at them and Draco ignored him. Remus had paused as well, because he was incapable of not looking at Tonks, which meant Draco ended up trudging along with Arthur Weasley. He tried to keep his distance, but while the woods were not thick, the placing of the trees meant it was hard to stay more than an arm’s length away. But Arthur Weasley wasn’t one to make idle conversation, for which Draco was grateful. What, really, was there to talk about?

“Hey, what about this one?”

The call came from Tonks. Draco stopped and turned. The other Auror was standing by a rather basic looking pine tree. Draco rolled his eyes, but trudged back, trying to walk in his footprints to rejoin the group.

“I think it might be a bit too tall,” said Charlie, peering up at the top branches.

“We can raise the ceiling, can’t we?” Tonks asked. She and Remus took a trip around the tree, inspecting it from all angles. 

“Branches look fine back here,” said Remus. “Could we raise the ceiling, Arthur?”

“We’ve done it before,” said Arthur mildly. That seemed to describe the Weasley father. Mild. Of course, Draco had seen him fist-fighting with Lucius in a bookstore. It was good to know that something could bring a rise out of him. Draco liked to know what buttons to avoid, or push, if the situation called for it. 

“What do you think?”

It took a moment for Draco to realize that Arthur was speaking to him.

“What do I think?” he repeated. And there it was, that expectant pause that he hated so much, the feeling of eyes on him, pinning him in place, the tension that built until it was overwhelming. He was going to start babbling. He curled his hand into a fist, wishing desperately for a cigarette even though he’d promised Kingsley he was truly finished this time.

They were still waiting. He took a breath. A simple answer, that was all they needed.

“I really have no basis of comparison,” he said and offered a shrug. There, no problem. Short, concise. But they were still looking at him, heads tilted to the side. Arthur’s gaze was the worst, steady, expectant. The discomfort grew; he spoke again.

“I suppose one tree is as good as the other. This appears to be an adequate specimen of…pine.” Oh Merlin, he sounded like an idiot, didn't he? He tried to stop his mouth from moving, but they wouldn’t look away from him; they just kept staring. “And… it seems quite healthy. That is, it is living in this wood, and appears to be flourishing. And we have determined that it does have branches, in the back as well as the front, if trees have such distinctions, so I’m sure it will do fine, assuming the ceiling can be raised to accommodate its quite impressive height.”

Tonks walked over to sling her arm around his shoulder, and while the contact was unnerving, at least it meant he was finally able to shut-up.

“Draco, is this your first Christmas tree?”

“I have never before plucked a tree from its native environs,” Draco hedged. He was unable to meet her inquiring gaze. 

She stepped into his line of sight. “What about decorating a Christmas tree? You’ve done that before, haven’t you?” 

“Merlin, no.” Draco was repulsed by the very idea of it. Spending time hanging trinkets on an ill-fated plant? No thank you. But apparently his view was unique and disparate from the present company, because it caused a new bout of staring and his mouth started moving again.

“Our trees were pre-decorated before being sent to the manor. Sometimes the house elves had to rearrange a bow or two, but they were largely designed by interior decorators to go with the décor in the various rooms. Mother was very particular when it came to colors and she could drive a seasoned florist to tears in a matter of minutes. All very impressive, really.”

Dear Merlin, he just needed one cigarette, and then he would quit for good.

“What about waking up early and opening presents under a tree?” Tonks asked.

“Lucius and Narcissa preferred to spend the holiday abroad. Italy, Southern France, Spain, the Caribbean. I begged off the year they went to the West Indies. For some reason, they detest white Christmases, and I wanted to have snow for a change. Otherwise, I opened presents in the hotel suite, usually when my breakfast was catered in.”

“ _Your_ breakfast?” Tonks questioned.

Damn it. Would her curiosity ever end?

“Lucius and Narcissa were usually out late with Christmas Eve concerts and benefits and other such soirees. They preferred to sleep in afterwards. I was a child and didn’t want to wait for them to wake up.” Draco gave another shrug, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and – Christmas really was a time for miracles – found a partially-squashed cigarette carton inside. 

Thank Merlin. Or St. Nick.

“Excuse me,” Draco said. He awkwardly stepped through the snow to get some distance, tapped out one of the two remaining cigarettes, and lit it with a quick charm.

He truly had quit. He’d gone an entire month without a cigarette, and honestly, he’d felt great. And he’d finally gone to the Healer’s without having to get his lungs scrubbed of corrosive tar. Now, with the toxins hitting his system, he felt slightly ill, but he proceeded to draw in the smoke. It only took a few moments for the familiar ease to set in.

“You smoke?” asked Charlie, looking somewhat surprised.

Of course he sounded surprised. Cigarettes weren’t popular in wizarding society. Traditionalists used pipes and cigars, both of which were magically filtered. But cigarettes weren’t, and the only way to get rid of the smoking damage was to have regular lung scrubbings, which were numbered among the top five most painful, legal charms to suffer.

Draco shrugged. “I quit.”

“Well, quit again,” said Tonks, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “And come on. If this is your first Christmas tree, we’re going to find the best tree ever.”

Draco sighed, the smoke curling out from his mouth and nose in a rush. He’d thought, by taking a smoke break, that he might be able to get some space, but the Gryffindors were a stubborn bunch. He took in one last drag and then obediently vanished the cigarette. Tonks grabbed his arm, and they were off again. 

“The most important thing about a Christmas tree,” she explained, “is to make sure it has no bald patches.”

“No bald patches,” Draco repeated.

“And the needles have to be green, not brown. Otherwise, it means the tree is unhealthy, and the needles will all fall off, which is ugly and a pain to clean up.”

“And that's it?” Draco asked.

“Fat trees are better,” Charlie chimed in. “Not skinny ones.”

“That’s just a matter of personal preference,” said Remus.

“Skinny trees look unhappy,” said Charlie.

Tonks laughed.

“You also want a straight trunk,” said Arthur from behind. “Otherwise the tree stand won’t be able to support it.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Other than that, it’s just basic height restrictions,” Tonks continued. “And we can raise the ceiling as high as we want.”

“Now, let’s not get too carried away,” Arthur cautioned. “We still have to fly it back, so it can’t be too extraordinary.”

“So why not the first tree?” Draco asked.

Tonks shook her head. “Wasn’t the one.”

“Why not?”

“You can feel it.” 

“Feel what?”

“When the tree is right. That tree back there was good, but it didn't say ‘Christmas’.”

“Because trees can’t talk.” Draco wondered if she’d been taught that as a child.

Tonks gave a mournful sigh. “Draco, Christmas is all about a feeling. When it feels right, you'll know. It’ll be like the tree is telling you ‘I’m the one’.”

“Because a tree wants to be chopped down, and would advertise that fact.”

Charlie laughed. Remus shook his head at Tonks, who looked quite exasperated. Draco thought he might be getting a headache and he was sure it was from these baffling Gryffindors, not the sudden influx of poisons from the cigarette.

“Haven’t you heard?” Charlie asked. “It’s every tree’s desire to become a Christmas tree.”

Draco stared at him. “That is ridiculous.”

“It’s the truth.”

“True as Santa Claus,” Draco muttered.

“I don't think you’re going to win this one,” Arthur told him in commiseration. “Even if I did tell Charlie that just because he cried when the trees died after Christmas.”

Draco smiled, pleased that someone else was finally owning up to the folly of the season.

“However,” said Arthur, dashing his spirits, “sometimes a tree really does just feel right.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He could play along. He pointed to the tree in front of him. “That tree is telling it’s the one.” 

In truth, the tree said nothing. It was simply a tree, a decidedly average pine tree that had yet to reach a towering size. It was not particularly fat or thin, but it looked appropriately branched from this side and it was decidedly green underneath the snow.

“Huh,” said Tonks, stopping beside Draco. “It does look nice, doesn't it?”

Charlie ran around it, then took a slower surveillance accompanied by Remus.

“It’s quite the tree,” he said.

Draco crossed his arms and stared the tree down, daring it to give him any sort of feeling. He smirked when there was none.

“We shouldn’t have to raise the ceiling too much,” said Charlie to Arthur.

“Might not have to at all,” said his father. He, too, took a lap around and Tonks followed. Draco stayed where he was.

“I think it's the one.” Tonks leaned close to the branches and inhaled. “It smells like Christmas.” 

“It smells like pine which is used in Christmas fragrances,” Draco countered.

“Knock it all you want, cuz, but you cannot deny that you found the Christmas tree.”

“I found a tree. Hardly exceptional in a forest.”

Tonks shook her head. “Nope, you found the Christmas tree. Can't you feel it? It's the one.”

Dear Merlin, he was going to curse Kingsley for making him attend this outing.

“Nymphadora,” said Arthur, “stop teasing your cousin.”

“Don't call me Nymphadora,” said Tonks crossly.

Draco raised his eyebrow. So, she didn't like her name, did she?

Tonks caught his expression and pointed a warning finger at him. “Don't even think about, Malfoy.”

“The thought never even crossed my mind,” Draco lied.

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 21st  
11:41 am**

“Nice looking tree,” Kingsley said, watching Tonks and Remus levitate it into the living room. His book lay discarded on the side table because seeing the two struggle to keep the tree afloat was infinitely more entertaining.

“Alright,” said Arthur, crouched by the tree stand in the corner. “Let’s try guiding it over. Nice and slow.”

The tree tipped alarmingly and Draco, who had taken up a station right beside Kingsley’s armchair, took half a step forward, his hand tightening tellingly on his wand. Kingsley flicked Draco’s arm, because his partner didn’t need to stand guard over him. Draco simply took a step to the left, moving out of reached, and raised his wand another fraction of an inch.

The tree teetered, shook, and finally settled into place and the tree stand clamped around the base. The levitation spells were hesitantly dropped and everyone, besides his partner, took a step back just in case. The tree stayed perfectly straight. Arthur tugged at a few of the branches, but it was sturdily in place.

“Well done,” Kingsley applauded. 

Tonks turned to him. “Draco found the tree, you know.” She looked to Draco, as if waiting for a reaction. 

Draco smirked. “ _Nymphadora_ gave extremely helpful tips.”

“That’s it,” said Tonks, pulling her wand. “You better start running, dear cousin, because I –,”

“Tonks!” Molly scolded from the doorway. “There will be no dueling in this house.”

“Then we can take it outside,” Tonks growled. Her hair turned black.

Draco turned to Molly with wide eyes, the same eyes Kingsley had seen Captain Buchannan cave under. “I’m afraid it’s my fault Cousin Nymphadora is so upset. I didn’t realize that calling her Nymphadora was so distasteful to her. After all, Nymphadora is such a beautiful name.” 

Molly threw up her hands. “You’re as bad as the twins. Can I never have a peaceful house for the holidays?”

And then she left, no doubt to pull a pie or pudding from the oven.

Tonks smiled evilly in Draco’s direction, obviously intent on gaining retribution from the teasing, but Draco simply claimed the seat next to Kingsley and ignored her. Tonks left to go help Remus bring the lights in.

“Sounds like you had fun,” said Kingsley.

Draco gave a non-committal grunt, something he had picked up from his partner. Kingsley waited, because when Draco stooped to inarticulate noises, it meant he really had something to say.  


“I was looking forward to a lack of Christmas this year,” Draco said, keeping his voice low. “I was going to attend the office party Christmas Eve, and then return home and stay there. I was going to have a very nice dinner catered in. I had a new book to read and the new Pearson James album to enjoy with a glass of brandy. I was even considering attending the Children’s Hospital benefit the next day.”

“You weren’t going to,” said Kingsley.

“I had the tickets and everything,” Draco countered. “I was planning on asking Felicia if she wanted to go with me.”

“Felicia, huh?” asked Kingsley, raising his eyebrows. 

Draco drew himself up in his chair. “Felicia is very socially conscious and I’m sure she would have enjoyed the event.”

“She probably would have, but ever since you informed me of your pathetic, and rather Scrooge-like holiday plans, I was planning on grabbing you after the party and taking you to my dad’s for Christmas.”

Draco blinked. “Your dad’s?”

"Yes. We have a large family Christmas each year. You would have loved it. Actually, you probably would have been completely overwhelmed and smothered with attention and teased mercilessly. But you would have had fun.”

“At your family’s Christmas party,” Draco clarified.

“Yes, at my family's Christmas party. Do you think I would have left you to mope on Christmas like you did last year?”

“I didn’t mope last year.”

“You spent the entire day at your office.”

“I had a business to run then!”

“Moping.”

“I’m not even going to reply to that.” 

Kingsley grinned. “Because I’m right.”

Draco ignored him and continued to ignore him all throughout lunch. Kingsley wasn’t worried. For as much as his partner could babble until Squibs cast spells when he was nervous, he usually didn’t monopolize conversations. In fact, in most conversations, he only cast out the occasional snide comment. He was content to listen and let others direct the subject.

After lunch Arthur and Remus managed to untangle the string of lights, or rather, they spat out detangling spells and straightening charms before asking Molly to sort out the mess for them. The Weasley mother had the lights straight with one flick of her wand. 

Draco and Kingsley set up a game of chess but Draco, Kingsley noticed, was paying equal parts attention to the game of chess between them and the trimming of the tree. He looked equally disinterested in both, but the fact that he was watching meant he was intrigued. Kingsley wondered if he had known before this day what went into decorating a Christmas tree. 

Arthur and Charlie brought up box after box of Christmas ornaments. Before long, walking through the room became extremely difficult and rather hazardous. Draco had to pull up his feet to allow the others to pass by.

“Come and hang some ornaments, Draco,” said Tonks. She was sitting on the floor, nearly covered in old newspapers that had been wrapped around the ornaments for cushioning. She held out a twinkly star ornament invitingly.

Kingsley caught the look of askance on Draco’s face. “It won’t bite.” 

Draco sighed, picked his way over to his cousin and then the tree, and hung the star on a branch in the middle. 

“Was that so bad?” Tonks asked. She held out another one for him. A penguin in a Santa hat.

“Are you not capable of standing?” Draco asked.

“I’m pregnant,” said Tonks.

Kingsley nearly dropped the rook he had just picked up to move. Arthur’s head whipped around. Charlie tripped over a box, tried to catch himself on another, and toppled over to the floor with a crash. Remus sat heavily on the floor, staring blankly at Tonks. 

Draco stared at her too, and she stared back at him, her face just as shocked as his. Kingsley had the realization that Tonks hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Draco’s face tightened into a look of resolve. Kingsley knew that look. It was the one Draco got right before an arrest. It said he was expecting trouble. He stood and pulled out his wand. He leveled it at Remus.

“My cousin carries your child and you do not honor her with marriage?” he accused. 

“Oh, crap,” said Tonks, slapping her hand to her forehead.

“What’s going on in here?” Molly demanded from the doorway.

Kingsley got up and pushed Draco’s wand down.

“Nothing, Molly. Tonks was just explaining to Draco why she and Remus have decided not to get married even though she’s pregnant.”

Molly looked to Tonks, then to the white-faced Remus. “I’ll get tea. And brandy.” She turned to leave Kingsley heard her mutter, “Never a quiet holiday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, I'm sure I don't have to say this, but smoking is bad for you. If you do smoke, and are trying to quit, good on you! There are many free, helpful quitting tools available, and if you google how to quit in your area, you might find some in person resources to use as well. Draco's nicotine habit started when he was a teen who didn't know how to handle his anxiety. I'm writing this not to glorify an addiction, but normalize that it happens. I don't want to shame anyone who is struggling with an addiction, nor do I want to promote unhealthy coping mechanisms.  
> Merry Christmas you all! I hope you had a wonderful holiday. If you want to give me a Christmas present, just leave a review!


	5. Questions and Answers

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 22nd  
9:43 am **

Tonks paused in the doorway to the dining room. She had already eaten breakfast, quite a while ago in fact. There was something about being pregnant that had her retiring to bed early in the evening and waking up even earlier in the morning. Only Draco was at the table now. As a teen, he was taking advantage of his current unemployment and sleeping in. Kingsley had informed them yesterday that Draco detested mornings and that if there was nothing for him to be doing, it was best to “let the sleeping dragon lie”. Of course, right after Kingsley had told them that, he had gone to wake up Draco to cut down a Christmas tree.

Draco’s plate was nearly empty, and he was reading the paper as he took his last bite of toast. Molly was immediately there to scoop away his dishes. Tonks watched Draco half-rise, reaching out, protesting that he could clear his own dishes, even wash them, but Molly had none of it. Instead, she returned with the coffee pot and refreshed his mug. Draco thanked her, added cream and sugar, and picked up the paper again.

It was time to make her move. Tonks walked in and took the seat across from him. Molly whisked to her side.

“Are you hungry again? Would you like some tea, perhaps to settle your stomach? I’ve got some biscuits I could –,”

“Do you have any hot chocolate?” Tonks asked. It was a preventative measure to ask for something so that Molly didn’t keep pushing food on her. It was also because Molly made the best hot chocolate this side of the channel.

“Of course.”

Draco didn’t put the paper down. Tonks wondered if he was ignoring her, or if he was really that interested in the finance section. Both seemed probable. 

In a matter of minutes, Tonks was presented with a large mug of steaming hot chocolate and a platter of biscuits to go along with it.

“Really, Molly.”

“You just eat up,” said the Weasley mother, patting her hand. “And holler if you need anything. I’ll be right in the living room.”

Tonks was surprised she left so quickly. After her ill-timed announcement last night, she had been hard pressed to get Molly to stop fussing over her. It made talking with Remus a real difficulty because they couldn’t seem to get a moment alone. She’d finally been able to grab him for a few minutes before bed. She’d given him a rather poor apology, all stuttered words and tangled phrases. She hadn’t meant to announce it like that. She’d meant to tell him first. She wasn’t trying to lie to him or keep secrets. He’d received the apology well, but then, he’d always been the forgiving sort. He still seemed to mean it this morning, although he’d been a little quieter than usual. And now the next person she had to talk to was her cousin, a barely-of-age teenaged boy who was an absolute mystery to her. All she’d determined about him so far was that he’d had one hell of a restricted upbringing.

Tonks sighed in frustration, took a sip of her hot chocolate, and sighed again, this time in pleasure. The milk was perfectly steamed, the chocolate was rich, and there was a hint of spice or zest in the drink that she couldn’t quite place but was utterly divine.

Draco finally put the paper aside and met her gaze. Tonks noted that his back was perfectly straight, his expression composed. His hands rested on the table, lightly folded together. He reached out to take a sip of coffee, and his posture never changed. Even his fingers were correctly placed on the handle of the mug. 

Tonks had seen that posture before on her mother, except that Andromeda, as a woman, was supposed to keep her expression pleasant and eyes demurely downcast. Tonks’ father called it Andromeda’s “default” position. If her mother was ever anxious or angry or surprised, she would sit at the table, perfectly poised and perfectly still, like a lifelike doll. It was the posture the old Pureblood aristocracy trained their children in from birth, not that Andromeda talked about her childhood. She occasionally mentioned the horrors of etiquette class as a joke, but Tonks knew that what wasn’t spoken of was an unhappy life of blind servitude to the family. So blind, most of them didn’t even realize they were unhappy because they knew nothing else.

“I didn’t mean to upset you last night,” Tonks said. “I didn’t even mean to say I was pregnant. I was trying to keep it quiet until I told Remus. But I’ve been thinking about it for so long that it just sort of… popped out the other night. I’ve always been bad with secrets.”

“You didn’t want to tell him?” Draco asked.

His tone was unreadable. And to answer his question, Tonks would have to reveal quite a bit about her relationship with Remus. It was a smooth move. He must be killer in criminal interrogations.

“Not because I don’t like him,” she clarified. Her cousin had asked, so she’d be open and honest with him. “And not because I don’t think he’d make a good father. I just don’t want him to feel obligated into marrying me. And I want to be sure that he really likes me, that we’re not just good friends or good for a quick fling. And I want to be sure of my own feelings for him. I do care for him, a great deal, but I’ve never thought of having children or raising a family. It’s something new to consider."

Having said her part, she waited. Draco said nothing, just kept his eyes on her face.

“So…,” said Tonks, “you don’t have to worry about defending my honor.”

Draco nodded. “I know that the old traditions aren’t kept in general society. However, should you request, I am more than capable of dragging him to a wedding ceremony.”

Tonks couldn’t help but grin. “Thanks, cuz.” And then a thought crossed her mind. “You don’t think I’m… that is, I’m pregnant and I might not marry Remus, at least, if he doesn’t want to, I won’t force him. I’d be a single mother then.”

Draco’s brows furrowed at her intelligible question and then one eyebrow rose in understanding. “You think that I believe you to be a...,” and then he paused, and a corner of his mouth rose. “A _lupa_.”

Lupa. The old term for a woman of loose morals, a “she-wolf”. Ha-ha. Her cousin was hilarious. Still, at least he’d loosened up enough to even consider making a play on words.

“Is that a yes or a no?” Tonks asked.

“It hardly matters what I think. We’ve only met a few days ago.” 

“It does matter. And despite us meeting a few days ago, you still defended me against a potentially unwilling suitor.” 

Draco shrugged a shoulder and gave a wan smile. “Yes, well… family.” 

“Back at you,” said Tonks, smiling brighter than him. She swallowed a few sips of hot chocolate and then lowered her mug. “You never answered my question. Do you think I’m a woman of loose morals?”

Draco gave that same faint smile. “I am hardly in the position to judge anyone’s morals, or lack thereof.” He glanced down at his mug of coffee. He ran a finger over the edge of the handle, a frown creasing his features before he hurriedly placed his hands back in the correct position. Tonks wondered if Draco even realized the extent of his adherence to posture.

“I think you have the same right to judge as anyone else,” said Tonks.

“I wasn’t always a Detective-Auror.”

“Before that you were a kid. In fact, you still are.”

“I’m of age,” said Draco, a hint of irritability creeping into his voice.

“Barely. No one can blame you for the upbringing you received.”

“Is that a pardon for all of my transgressions?”

“Certainly a great deal of them.”

“You’re too generous.”

Tonks watched as his long, pale finger traced the handle of his mug again. There was something hesitant about his expression now. 

“You know, we don’t see you as his son.” 

Draco looked up and raised an eyebrow. 

Tonks gave a smile. “There’s a lot of reformed Purebloods in the Order. Sirius Black, before he passed. My own mother. Hell, even Snape.” 

“Snape?” Draco asked. “Professor Snape?”

Tonks suddenly froze, a sudden cold twist in her stomach made her blanch and it had nothing to do with her pregnancy. “Oh shit, you didn’t know.” How could she have forgotten? Draco was an Auror, yes, and partnered with Kingsley, but that didn't mean he was an Order member. Of all the things to let slip!

And then she saw the slight twitch of Draco’s lips. She picked up a biscuit from her plate and threw it at him. “You little _twerp_!”

Draco tried to duck out of the way, but it hit his shoulder. Tonks picked up another one, but Draco was actually smiling right now, so she simply bit into it.

“Did Kingsley tell you?” she asked.

“I suspected. Kingsley unintentionally confirmed it and then Dumbledore swept away all doubt. I have an open invitation to the Order, you know. Just haven't figured out if I want to sign my name in blood.”

The last was said ruefully. A real, solid emotion from him, finally.

Tonks nodded. “Well, I was trying to point out that we’re very used to looking past first impressions and family ties. I mean, Snape was actually a Death Eater before he switched sides and you… you just grew up. So, don't expect it to be awkward.”

Draco seemed to consider that and then took a sip of his coffee. He looked up at Tonks.

“Lupin has been looking at you weirdly all week,” he said abruptly. “And you've been stealing glances as well. While you were trying to decide if you would want him as a husband, you've been scrutinizing his behavior and responding differently to him. He must have sensed that, causing him to withdraw and wonder what’s going on. That’s why it’s been so awkward between you two.”

Tonks blinked. “Since when did you become a relationship guru?”

“The tension was obvious. Now I have a reason for it. Simple cause and effect reasoning.”

“You must be one hell of a detective.”

Draco smirked. “You have no idea.”

**England, Undisclosed Location  
The Burrow  
December 22nd  
1:23 pm**

“I’m just going to the store, Arthur,” Molly said, putting her hands on her hips. Really, this was all quite ridiculous. “I've been there dozens of times before.” 

“There's been Death Eater sightings,” said Arthur. “And what about the Baffords?”

Yes, the Baffords. Poor family. Muggle, for the most part, but with one witch in the family. The whole house had been destroyed not ten days ago.

“A tragedy, yes,” Molly allowed. “But they are all the way across the town. I'm just going into the grocer.”

Arthur turned to Kingsley and didn’t the tall Auror look just as concerned.

“You’ve already put the Christmas lights on the house,” Molly told him. “You said that would be the last bit of exertion for the day. And I am not taking you with me.” She turned her gaze on Arthur. Her husband was good man, very patient, but that patience did not extend to grocery stores.

“Tonks could –,” Kingsley started, but then stopped, remembering her condition.

“Charlie,” said Arthur.

Their son was in the living room, sitting on the floor, building a tiny model broom. The pieces were scattered about the floor beside him. He had quite the collection of models already. 

“Mum’s right,” Charlie called over. “There won't be any more Death Eaters in the area, now that they've attacked the Baffords. Our house is hidden well so they don’t know we’re here too. And let's not forget that Mum can take care of herself."

Molly smiled, knowing that Charlie wasn't simply supporting her because he wanted to finish his broom. He genuinely understood that she was a capable witch on her own right. After all, she'd received top marks when she attended Hogwarts, enough to go on to an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's. Just because she'd given that up for her family didn't mean she'd given up her skills.

Arthur shook his head, clearly unhappy. “I’ll go, or I’ll ask Remus."

"Remus needs to be with Tonks right now, and you know you're an absolute aggravation," said Molly. "I will go to the store on my own, and I'll be back in an hour or two."

Arthur looked beseechingly at Kingsley. Kingsley nodded and moved to the hall.

"Draco!" he called.

There was a moment's silence, then Molly heard Ginny’s door open and light footsteps coming from the room.

"Kingsley," said Draco, appearing in the doorway. He leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms. "I thought I heard your dulcet tones carrying throughout the house." 

As usual, his clothes were perfectly pressed and his hair was brushed to perfection, shining pale gold in the afternoon light. He could have stepped from the pages of a high fashion catalog. He raised his eyebrow, and even though his voice had been bland, Molly suddenly recognized the slight edge in his tone: reproach. She hid a smile.

"Molly's going shopping," said Kingsley. "Muggle grocer. Death Eater citing last week during an attack on a witch and her Muggle family."

"The Bafford case," said Draco.

Kingsley nodded. "Be ready in five."

Draco glanced over to Molly, his expression unreadable, then back to his partner. He gave a short nod, pushed off the doorway, and left.

Kingsley turned to Arthur. "Draco will keep an eye out, just in case."

"Kingsley, he's a child.” While Molly believed him to be a capable Auror, it didn't feel right relying on a boy Ron's age. If anything, she felt the urge to look after him.

"Draco's got a good eye for trouble.” 

"Is he any good in the Muggle world?" Arthur asked.

"Lives there," said Kingsley. "Or did until his flat was destroyed. He didn't have much of a choice, not with Lucius looking for him."

And that was certainly a grim reminder of the atrocities war. The fact that a boy would have to hide from his own father… Molly shook her head.

In four minutes, Draco was back, and nearly completely unrecognizable. He hadn't changed his hair color, or taken a polyjuice potion, or any other extreme form of disguise. He simply changed his clothes and his demeanor. He wore jeans, neat, but with wear showing on the knees and hem. A plain, grey t-shirt was under a partially zipped hoodie. His hair was mussed. His hands were shoved into his jeans’ pockets. He scuffed his boots on the floor as he waited for the others. In short, he looked like a Muggle. More surprisingly, he looked like a teenager.

Kingsley walked over to Draco as Molly went to retrieve her shoes. When she came back out, Draco was rolling his eyes at his partner.

"Yes, I have my gun."

"Knife?" Kingsley queried.

"Yes," said Draco shortly.

"Restraints?"

Draco gave his partner a glare that could have rivaled Medusa, then he unzipped the hoodie. He slammed his wand down on the table, followed by a gun from his shoulder holster. A pair of thin silver bracelets followed, magical restraints. He then pulled a knife from each of his boots. He slipped a chain from around his neck and placed that next to the weapons. A silver lighter followed. Molly didn't know what those last two objects were, or what purpose they served, but Draco turned to Kingsley and crossed his arms.

Kingsley didn't back off, or apologize for double checking what must be standard procedure for IRS Aurors. Instead, he picked up the gun and checked the setting. He looked over all of the equipment before handing each back to Draco to be secreted away.

"Alright. I think you're all set."

Draco muttered a response in some other language that Molly didn't understand. From his expression, Kingsley didn't either.

"Molly," said Kingsley, ignoring his partner, "are you ready?"

And that was how Molly found herself pushing a wire shopping cart through a Muggle grocery with Draco Malfoy trailing a half-step behind.

There were benefits to shopping at a Muggle grocer, but the negatives far outweighed those few positives. For one thing, the Muggle grocery always appeared to be crowded, and the lights were harsh, and everything was in boxes or cans. The wizard's market she preferred to shop at was full of fresh produce and meats. One didn't have to worry about what sort of chemicals were put in the food to keep it on the shelf for a matter of years. How was she supposed to cook a proper Christmas dinner with canned vegetables and frozen fruits and 'pasteurized milk', whatever that meant.

She glanced down at her list, feeling harried and irritable. The child screaming two aisles over did not do anything to help her nerves. She spotted the can of beans she wanted, high on the top shelf, and stretched to reach it, but a hand reached up for her. 

"This one, ma'am?" Draco Malfoy asked politely.

"The very one, thank you. Actually, grab another while you’re at it.”

Draco nodded and set the cans in the cart. She noticed the way his eyes flickered up and down the aisle before he returned to his position, slightly behind her, a step to the right. 

"Do you have a favorite Christmas dish, Draco?" she asked, checking her list once more.

There was the slight hesitation Molly had come to expect from him, as if he was carefully weighing his answer before he spoke. Had it not been for the uncertainty on his face when he paused, she would have thought he was simply trying to choose the best answer to ingratiate himself to the Order. But that flickering uncertainty, and his tendency to babble, spoke more of anxiety than espionage. 

"I'm sure that the menu you have prepared –,”

"The menu isn't prepared, dear," said Molly, turning to give him a reassuring smile. "I know the others' favorites, so what's yours? Don't try to wheedle out of telling me."

Draco shifted and glanced down the aisle again. "I've a partiality for cranberries."

Molly patted his arm. "Wasn't that easy? And I think I have just the thing to make."

After all, Christmas demanded there be a goose, and her grandmother had a superb recipe for goose with a cranberry sauce. Oh yes, there would be cranberries. Anything for the poor boy running from his own family this holiday season. And now that she thought of it, she had a recipe for a cranberry sorbet that always received raving reviews. She'd make other flavors too, raspberry and lemon. It would be a good finish to the meal, and afterwards, a few hours afterwards, everyone should be ready for Christmas pudding.

She turned onto the next aisle. Two young women were arguing over instant noodles. They’re faces were heavy with make-up and hair worn in a disarray of curls. There was a good deal of bare skin showing for it being December. While they appeared to be in their early twenties, and old enough to make their own sartorial decisions, that would not stop Molly from giving them a good talking to if they were her own girls. Appearing in public in such a state showed no respect to others or themselves.

Draco, to his credit, simply glanced them over, searching for a threat in every costumer they passed, and then continued on next to Molly. She had a funny feeling her boys might stare a bit longer, especially the twins. She stopped to retrieve a few boxes of pasta. The girls were somewhat in her way and did not move, even when Molly excused herself for reaching by them. It was then she noticed where the girls were looking. Not at the instant noodles anymore. No, their eyes were fastened firmly on the jean-clad posterior of one Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, for the wand of Merlin!" she exclaimed. "He's seventeen! Go corrupt someone your own age!"

The girls seemed quite surprised at her outburst, and Draco swung around, his hand slipping inside his jacket pocket before he realized who she was scolding and why. Molly had always thought her boys blushed easily, and red-heads always did manage to turn quite unusual shades of purple, but with Draco's pale skin, the flush was quite spectacular. His cheeks went red immediately, as did his ears. He quickly looked away, and she could see the blush extend down his neck as well. 

Molly pushed the cart onto the next aisle rather quickly, but not before shooting one more glare at the quite unrepentant pair of girls. Draco followed, perfectly in step.

"With your looks," she told Draco, "you’ll catch the eye of a lot of women. But hold out for a nice girl, not like those tramps over there. You're just a conquest to girls like that and you deserve better." She patted his arm again, because he was looking at her rather shocked. "Let's get you those cranberries, dear."

**London, Undisclosed Location  
Outside the Burrow  
December 23rd  
2:12 pm**

Draco hit the snow, his shoulder stinging sharply. He rolled to the left, another curse slicing an inch from his face and sizzling when it contacted the snow. He countered with his own spell and shield, rolled fluidly to his feet, and pulled out his ACE gun from his shoulder holster. He squeezed off two shots, his opponent deflecting both with no apparent difficulty. Draco spun right, avoiding a barrage of disabling charms from the similar gun held in his attacker's hand. Damn, he was fast.

Draco called up a screen of snow and returned fire, his wand providing the shielding and deflecting spells while the Automatic Curse Emitting revolver provided the offense. He kept moving, crossing around the flurry of snow that kept his attacker blind. But his opponent had anticipated his move and circled as well. No one gained ground. 

A ground-shaking curse rippled through the frozen dirt. Draco jumped high in the air, avoiding the worst of the bucking ground and then correctly layered a protection charm on the snow before landing. The lightning charm that had followed the earthquake spell fizzled harmlessly against the shield. Draco responded with a quick combination of a shield-breaking curse and a spark hex. His opponent jerked from the contact, his spelling temporarily hindered by the hex. Instead of retreating, his opponent charged at him, forcing his wand arm up in the air and striking at his exposed side.

Draco twisted, avoiding the worst of the blow, but the fist still landed. He grunted at the contact. He’d have a bruise the next morning. He swung his revolver around, but a strong arm caught the barrel and twisted. Draco was forced to release the gun or have his fingers snapped by the trigger guard. His hand now free, he struck up with his palm. Again, he was blocked. He was unable to match his opponent's strength, couldn't even begin to try to move him, but he could use his enemy's moves against him.

His attacker struck out again, a fist aimed for his stomach. He grabbed the man's arm and yanked forward, using his opponents’ momentum against him. The man stumbled forward, and Draco took the opportunity to spin away from his reach. He reached out his open hand, calling "Adesdum!"

The revolver flew into his hand, and the duel began anew. A pattern, a quick, dizzying trade of spells and blocks was exchanged, neither fighter giving a snowy inch of ground. The pace increased, faster and faster, until all thought was impossible and only instinct and reaction remained. The pattern grew familiar. Block and attack. Deflect and attack. Block and attack. Draco knew how to use patterns to his advantage. He let it continue, lulling his enemy into the rhythm, and then he made his move. He sidestepped a hex, instead of wasting a valuable millisecond to shield, and flicked his wand to cast a disarming spell.

A cold, wet ball of white hit his face and exploded. Draco fell back in the snow, spluttering and wiping his face.

"The hell was that?" he demanded.

Kingsley laughed, loudly. His head was thrown back and his shoulders shook with amusement.

Draco glared and finished wiping the snow off his face. He pushed himself to his feet, taking care to brush the flakes off his coat and clothes. He holstered his ACE gun, slipped his wand into the inside pocket of his coat, and crossed his arms.

"A snowball?" he asked.

Kingsley made a tally mark in the air with his finger. "And the match goes to me. That makes the total 28 to me, 12 to you."

"It's a duel, not a child's game.” 

"I was using the environment to my advantage. A completely legitimate attack."

"Do you really think a snowball is going to work in a real battle?"

"Worked against you, didn't it?"

Draco shook his head in exasperation. Kingsley glanced down at the snow.

"No," said Draco.

Kingsley didn't appear to hear him, but bent down, his gloved hands reaching for the snow.

"Kingsley, I swear to you, if you throw another snowball I will –,"

**England, Undisclosed Location  
The Burrow  
December 23rd  
2:24 pm**

The duel had been impressive to say the least. Arthur hadn't thought it was possible, but Draco held his own against Kingsley, trading spell for spell. They'd each managed to score a few hits with stinging hexes and minor charms, none strong enough to cause permanent damage.

For a moment, when Kingsley initiated a close range battle, using his fists and not spells, it was obvious to see he had the advantage. Draco was simply unable to compete with a man who had twice the muscle and half a head of height on him. But he'd been able to slip out of Kingsley's grasp and reinitiate a magical exchange, and towards the end of the battle, Arthur hadn't known who was going to win. It had been impossible to tell whose curse was whose, everything blurred into sparks of light and two twirling red coats.

That was when Draco abruptly fell backwards in the snow. Arthur hadn't seen what had happened, but Draco was wiping his face of snow and Arthur could guess what Kingsley had done. The snowball seemed to spark some kind of debate, each holstering their weapons and facing down the other. He couldn’t hear the exchange, but he watched Kingsley grab another handful of snow. Draco made no move to respond in kind. This time the snowball hit the teen right in the chest.

Draco glared. Kingsley, very deliberately, reached for another handful of snow and began packing it. He held it out, away from his body, and his lips moved. Arthur wondered if he was showing Draco how to make a snowball, or if he was just taunting. It might have been taunting, because Draco didn't take to kindly to the words. His wand was out in an instant, and a wave of snow rose up and crashed over Kingsley.

Arthur laughed out loud. Kingsley had deserved that one.

But the large Auror wasn't going to let his partner's attack go unanswered. Arthur watched as Kingsley scrambled from the snow, hands outstretched and grasping for Draco. The boy apparently decided a retreat was in order. Kingsley chased him towards the side of the house, steadily gaining on Draco who struggled through the high drifts. Arthur had noticed Draco's difficulty in the snow two days before, when they had gone to collect the Christmas tree. He wondered if the boy had ever trampled through snow or participated in a snowball fight before. If not, he was definitely getting an education now.

The two combatants sped around the corner and out of sight. Arthur sat back down on the sofa and picked up his paper.

In truth, Draco's stay at the Burrow had gone more smoothly than he thought would be possible. No doubt part of that was due to the fact that the boy was very well-mannered. Almost too well-mannered. During meals, he was largely silent, except to praise Molly's cooking skills when asked how he enjoyed the meal. Tonks could draw him into a conversation, but it was short and formal. Occasionally Draco responded to a tease with a biting comment that was too clever to be truly cruel, but those were followed by an embarrassed flush and silence. It was rather amusing because, when pressed for information, he had a tendency to babble. Usually Kingsley flicked him on the arm, or kicked him under the table to get him to close his mouth, but when he wasn't present, Draco would talk himself in circles, the look on his face growing more and more desperate with every word he spoke.

The other reason the stay was going so well was due to Kingsley. The large Auror could get Draco to play a game or help string up lights on the roof with a simple raise of his eyebrows. Draco would occasionally mutter at this, or roll his eyes, or offer a snide commentary that Arthur only heard when passing by unnoticed. Kingsley took it all in stride, and Arthur suspected, from his reaction, that Draco’s reluctance and complaints were merely a show.

Arthur turned through the paper and then put it down with a sigh. He'd already read the articles, every single one, even the financial section. Unemployment didn't suit him.  
He'd never been a career man. He didn’t possess the ambition to shoot above his peers, and frequently chosen his family above his job. If a promotion meant longer hours, he turned down the raise. If it meant traveling overseas, or moving altogether and uprooting his children, he said no thank you. But that didn't mean he wasn't a good worker. He found satisfaction in working hard and earning his pay. He found purpose in it. Now, he had nothing to occupy himself. 

He'd been fired from the Ministry late in the summer. It was impossible to find another job because no business wanted to taint themselves with such a 'radical', not when the Ministry was taking a very public stance against Harry Potter. A few years ago, the loss of his job would mean bankruptcy, but his twins had done very well for themselves and insisted upon sharing their Gringotts account with their father and mother. Arthur hadn't wanted to take it. He had never wanted to be a burden to his children, and he had been saving up a retirement fund for himself and Molly, but it wouldn't be enough. Prices were rising with the panic of the war. He hadn't been able to refuse.

He'd tried to stay busy. In the first month he'd finished the list of home repairs he'd been putting off for the last ten years. The second month he'd repainted the house. The third month had been tolerable with the arrival of Remus and Tonks and Charlie, but it didn't take long for the restlessness to set in again. He needed a hobby.

He sighed and glanced to the clock. He’d managed to waste ten minutes in self-reflection.

It wasn't just the inactivity that gnawed at him. There was nothing to be done on the war front. Dumbledore had ordered all members not to confront the Death Eaters if at all possible. He had said the time wasn’t right, not yet. And then he had refused to say what they were waiting for.

So the Order had escaped arrest by hiding in their homes, at the Burrow, or at Shell Cottage with Bill and Fleur. The twins were bunkered down in their shop; others had found refuge in the Muggle world. And while they waited, the government was slowly brought to its knees. There’d been hope, while the Ministry still stood, that a full-scale war could be avoided. Now it seemed inevitable. 

How Arthur envied those like Xenophilius Lovegood, who could at least fight back with words. Or Lee Jordan and his twins, who broadcasted daily reports to counter the propaganda spread by the Death Eaters. Even Dumbledore had Hogwarts to protect. Arthur was idle in an untraceable house. Hell, even Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, had been able to contribute until a few days ago. He felt useless.

The door to the kitchen opened and Arthur heard Molly’s voice exclaiming at the entrance of the two IRS Detectives.

"What, exactly, have you been doing? I thought I told you no undue exercise, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Just what is the meaning of this?"

"Exactly what I want to know," responded a droll voice. "'A little exercise' he told me. 'Just a few drills to insure my complete recovery.' Next thing I know, he's throwing snowballs at me."

Arthur smiled at the indignant, teasing tone. Perhaps Draco was learning to loosen up a little bit. Then again, he had noticed that the Slytherin delighted in ragging on his partner.

"Don't listen to him Molly," Kingsley responded. "He started the whole thing."

"I started?" Draco asked in incredulity. "I'll have you know I would never stoop to throwing snowballs. Such juvenile behavior is quite beneath me."

"Says the only juvenile in the room."

"Do not mistake age as any indicator of maturity. The entire IRS is filled with such foolhardy persons as my erstwhile partner. The indig –,” he cut off with a yelp.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt!" Molly scolded. "There will be no snow brought into this house. Now, go back outside, the both of you, and brush yourselves off properly."

Arthur heard them troop back outside and went to join Molly in the kitchen. She was spelling the floor dry of melted snow.

"Those two," she told Arthur, shaking her head in exasperation.

From outside there was a thump and a yell followed by a laugh that was too tenor to be Kingsley's deep rumble.

"Why, you little snake!"

Draco ran into the house. He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, his lips twitching as a snowball thumbed against the wood. He took note of Arthur and Molly. He straightened his clothes and gave a curt bow.

"Please forgive my abrupt entry," he said formally. "My partner will be a few minutes longer as he has inexplicably found himself with a great deal of snow to remove from his person."

"I hope he’s not injured himself with any of the day's activities?" Molly asked.

"He is uninjured.” And then, it must have been the exercise, or Kingsley's teasing, because Draco gave a rare smile. "Just deservedly cold. And wet."

He nodded again and moved through the kitchen, no doubt to change his clothes. Kingsley came in a moment later, squirming in a way that said snow had slipped underneath his collar and was trickling down his back. 

"I'm afraid there's nothing to be done," he announced. "That boy is a Slytherin through and through. I try to teach him to have a fair snowball fight, and what does he do? Brings down the whole roof of snow, right on top of me."

"I'm sure it had nothing to do with your snowball down the back of his shirt," said Molly. "If you ask me, you're the bad influence."

"Could be," Kingsley allowed. He inhaled and smiled. "Those wouldn't be apple tarts in the oven, would they, Molly?"

"Quite the nose," said Molly. "Well, go change out of your wet things and you can have some with your tea."

Kingsley kicked off his boots on the doormat, hung up his coat, and cast a drying charm. He sat down at the table in anticipation. Molly shook her head at the display, but Arthur knew she enjoyed the obvious regard for her cooking. He got the tea tray while Molly checked on the tarts. Charlie thumped down the stairs, sniffing expectantly, and joined the Auror at the table. Remus and Tonks weren't far behind.

Draco was the last to arrive, having changed out of his wet clothes. Ever since Dumbledore had dropped off his things, Arthur hadn't seen him in anything besides business casual attire, except during his grocery trip with Molly the other day. Fine trousers, black or dark grey, some with pinstripes or faintly patterned in houndstooth. Button-down shirts, neatly pressed, sometimes worn with a waistcoat, or more cashmere sweaters, obviously tailored. As always, Draco paused a moment before entering, a hesitant look on his face, as if he might be unwelcomed in that particular room and might be told to leave.

It appeared the ease of the snowball fight had worn off, because Draco thanked Molly as she poured him a cup of tea and then fell silent. It wasn't as if the others were speaking of topics he couldn't contribute to. The conversation started, as always, on the news and speculation about what certain events meant. Had the Death Eaters fully infiltrated the Wizengamot? What would be their next target? What could the Order do while they waited for Dumbledore’s signal?

Kingsley had some thoughts about a training regime for the civilians that might need to protect themselves, and Tonks offered a few suggestions herself. Remus talked about supply runs for families in hiding. Charlie spoke about using more aerial methods for fighting. 

It was a grim topic, to be sure. Arthur knew that was why Molly cleared her throat and said, “Tonks, Remus, have you thought about baby names yet?”

Tonks scrunched up her nose. Remus looked a little pale. Arthur glanced over at Draco, wondering if he was going to say something. His reaction to the announcement had caught them all off-guard, but then again, if the boy could speak the High Language, he probably followed the old traditions as well. That included the notion that parents should be wed before having a child. A hundred years ago, there had been many marriages that were overseen by angry family members wielding their wands. 

“I’ve hardly come up with options in two days,” Tonks said.

“Surely you’ve thought about baby names before all this,” Molly prodded.

“I never thought I wanted children, so no. I have no names.”

Her voice sounded a little snippy, and Remus’ pallor hadn’t faded, so Arthur to Draco and said, “So, how did you end up in the IRS? You said before there were circumstances, and I confess I'm a little curious."

His question got everyone's attention and Draco looked a little startled, the way he usually did when someone asked how he was or smiled at him.

"I –," said Draco, and then he stopped and looked at all the faces watching him intently. "Well, I didn't really intend to be an Auror. Never really thought of it as a viable career option, far too plebian, really." And then he glanced over at Kingsley. "Not that I think you're plebian.” He paused. His head tipped to the side. 

Kingsley barked out a laugh. “You absolutely think I’m plebian.”

“Yes, well, it didn’t seem polite to mention over tea.”

“You tell me I’m uncultured all the time. How is tea any different?”

Draco shot a quick glance about the table, and Arthur knew what the difference was. The difference was insulting his partner was one thing, but inadvertently insulting their hosts were another. If the Aurors were too plebian for Draco’s tastes, it was unlikely any of their careers would be considered acceptable.

A faint flush started on Draco’s face. “The point is, I didn’t want to be an Auror. I know that it seems very exciting to children, but the whole running about and making arrests and getting into fights seemed rather… uncouth. I always preferred calmer environments, something more intellectually challenging than physically demanding.” He winced. “Not that there aren’t intellectual challenges in the Aurors. The IRS handles most of the criminal investigations, and that can actually be quite mentally stimulating. I hadn’t really thought of that aspect of policing before when I was considering career options. Or rather, I had discounted it because there are supposed to be two years of grunt work before the option of promotion to Detective-Auror is available, and it didn’t seem worth it.” He winced again, and the flush started to spread. “Not that being a Detective-Auror isn’t worth working towards. It’s just –,” 

Kingsley flicked his arm. Draco snapped his mouth shut and shifted in his chair. 

"You don't have to tell us," said Arthur. "I was merely thinking it might make an interesting story."

Draco glanced over at his partner.

Kingsley shrugged.

Draco raised an eyebrow.

Kingsley raised both of his.

Draco grimaced, ever so slightly.

Kingsley smiled.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Kingsley grinned wider and turned to the table, ignoring the confused gazes at the silent conversation.

"Draco was arrested," he said in opening.

Arthur felt his eyebrows shoot up even as Draco objected vehemently. 

"I was _not_ arrested! There is a huge difference between arrest and a formal investigation!" 

“Alright, now you have to tell us this story,” said Charlie, leaning in.

Draco turned to Kingsley, but Kingsley gestured out in a go-ahead motion.

There was a moment of silence while Draco picked out his words. “The Aurors in Business and Fraud have always had their eyes on Malfoy Enterprises. The business is entirely legitimate, legal, and an important part of England’s economy. It deals primarily in loans to other business, both established businesses that are looking to venture into new territory, and smaller, start-up companies. Because it deals mostly with finances, some members of B&F have assumed it to be a front or involved in money-laundering. It’s not, though,” Draco hastily added. “It just… expertly utilizes the gaps in the tax system to bring in more profits.”

Arthur thought it sounded like tax-dodging. He frowned, but Draco seemed unconcerned with the ethics. He continued.

“After the battle in the Department of Ministries two years ago, Lucius spent some months in Azkaban, and the B&F Aurors thought it would be an opportune time to investigate the business. They tried to seize it on some trumped-up charges of insider trading and embezzlement and whatever else they could think of, hoping that one of the charges might stick.” He rolled his eyes, clearly showing what he thought of that attempt.

"They didn't count on Draco though," Kingsley chimed in.

“Quite,” said Draco, looking smug. “The investigation lasted two weeks and ultimately came to naught. During that time of inquiry, I encountered Kingsley and his former partner, and the rest of the IRS.”

"I thought you said Business and Fraud was investigating," said Tonks.

Draco shrugged the comment off. "The investigation took place in the IRS department because their inquiry rooms had been recently renovated. And because they thought I’d be more intimidated by the IRS than B&F.” 

His tone was a little too blasé in Arthur's mind. It made Arthur think he was passing over an important component for the story. He looked to Kingsley, who filled in the missing piece. 

"The IRS inserted itself into the investigation after the Business and Fraud Auror broke Draco's wrist five hours into the initial questioning."

Arthur sat forward. “ _What_?” 

His question was echoed by Tonks. 

The table looked at Draco, who shrugged again, still playing at blasé. “I would have sued, if I thought intent could have been proven. But Lucius wasn’t popular at the Ministry then. People were angry.”

It was no excuse for an assault, and on a teenager at that. Two years ago, Draco would have been _fifteen_. Arthur felt Molly reach for his hand and he realized he’d curled his fingers into fists. 

“That’s bullshit,” Tonks pronounced, speaking for the entire table. 

"Which is what the IRS thought," said Kingsley. "Needless to say, we kept a close eye on the proceedings after that."

"They were absolutely unbearable," said Draco, but he didn’t seem to upset at the fact.

“During the course of the investigation, my partner at the time was captured by Death Eaters. Draco provided information to save her.”

“Provided information?” Draco asked. “Is that how you’re telling that story?”

“I… encouraged Draco to share his information.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“There may have been some coercion,” Kingsley allowed.

Draco seemed mollified with that correction. “And once I shared a little bit of information about the Death Eaters, well, all my credibility was gone, so there was nothing left to do but become a criminal informant to the IRS.”

Kingsley snorted. “Criminal informant, my arse. Once he gave us the information, we were aware that there may be some retaliation from the Death Eaters, so we arranged a small protection detail. And during the course of that, Draco gave us some helpful tips about a serial killer investigation.”

“Tips?” Draco objected. “I solved that mystery, thank you very much.”

“He was instrumental in catching the killer,” Kingsley agreed. “And once he got a taste of detective work, he was hooked.”

“I was bored,” Draco said. 

“Maybe because you dropped out of school.” Kingsley shot his partner a rather parental look. 

“I had my OWLs. And there was no way I was going back to Hogwarts.”

“You could have gotten a private tutor.”

“Please, you needed me.”

Kingsley scoffed. 

Draco narrowed his gaze. “Who was four months behind on his paperwork when I started consulting?”

It was Kingsley’s turn to wince. Tonks laughed. 

Kingsley cleared his throat. “Draco started consulting with us after that. He stuck around for two years until he turned seventeen and became a Detective-Auror."

"I was dragged into that as well," Draco informed them. "I didn't even have a choice."

It was the most Arthur had heard Draco speak without babbling before, and he was relaxed enough to tease his partner with mock indignance. Arthur wondered at the change, but also noticed the way Kingsley positioned his chair. The two chairs were nearly touching, with Kingsley's pushed an inch or so farther back from the table. He occasionally rested a hand on the back of Draco's chair. Kingsley was providing subtle support – or was that protection? – for his partner. Arthur hoped that some of the ease was due to Draco settling in more at the Burrow, and due to kindness he’d received.

"You would have refused just to be contrary," said Kingsley. He reached out to tussle Draco's hair, and Draco was a second too late to avoid his reach. His hair was so fine that the white-blond strands immediately settled back into place, but Draco still turned a glare onto his partner.

Kingsley grinned unrepentantly. 

Draco gave a small smile. "Perhaps.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	6. A Christmas Eve Rescue

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
December 24th  
3:00 pm**

A scream had Draco stagger a step forward, not carrying through with the fist aimed at his partner's stomach. Kingsley didn't pause. That was the benefit of ten years on the force. Instead of stumbling and jerking his head around to the house, as Draco did, Kingsley immediately grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him behind him, just in case.

Draco was no longer irked at such protective behavior, because, firstly, none of his complaints or arguments had any sort of effect, and secondly, he'd come to appreciate the gesture. It was nice to know that his partner looked after him.

It only took Kingsley half a second to determine there was no immediate threat. He sprinted for the house. The same analysis would have taken Draco several more seconds, but once he saw his partner move, he followed, trusting Kingsley to have spotted any danger.

He drew his wand in his left hand, his ACE revolver in his right. Kingsley ducked under a window and Draco flattened himself against the side of the house. He cast the camouflage charm as his partner peeked in.

"Nothing," said Kingsley.

But he didn't holster his weapons as he sprinted around to the door. Neither did Draco.

They ran in to find the Order members in the cluttered, cozy living room. The radio was on. Potterwatch.

Molly was holding onto Arthur, sobbing quietly. Arthur's face was expressionless, wiped perfectly clean. His eyes stared straight ahead, but they weren’t focused. Charlie was pale, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were white and his biceps flexed. Remus was holding Tonks' hand. Both looked saddened and frightened, but not to the degree of the Weasleys.

A death report then.

Kingsley turned the radio up.

"…where they're being taken. All I know is that around noon today, River and Rapier were taken…" The voice was choked, stunned. "I was out, in Diagon Alley, disguised. We needed food and supplies. I was only gone half an hour, not even that. When I made my return, I saw the smoke first, and then the wizards, surrounding our hideout, dressed all in black. Some were inside. I could hear them tearing the walls apart, searching for River and Rapier."

There was a pause, an audible swallow. Molly let out one short, heartbroken sob.

"I ran around back," the narrator continued, voice hoarse. "Rapier saw me from an upstairs window. He managed to throw the broadcast radio to me, but he was spotted; I was spotted. I had to run. The Death Eaters were chasing me. I managed to get away; I had to leave because I had the radio… I think they're still alive."

Damn.

Alive meant Veritaserum. Alive meant Azkaban and torture.

Draco knew that Lee Jordan was one of the usual hosts of Potterwatch, and he remembered the Gryffindor's voice from the Hogwarts Quidditch games. This voice was not Lee Jordan, meaning he was one of the broadcasters now captured. No doubt his call sign was 'River'. Rapier… that moniker offered no clue, but from the reaction of the Weasleys, it must be a brother.

"Loyal listeners," said the voice, and Draco tilted his head, trying to match it to a face. It was hard to tell with the strain and the tremors. "Potterwatch will not end. It will not be silenced. If I am taken next, then another will take my place, and another. The truth will not be silenced. This I have pledge to River and – and to R-rapier."

The voice caught again, on the last name, and suddenly Draco knew who it was, or rather, which of two it was. It was one of the Weasley twins.

Draco never had a sibling. He didn't know what it was like to lose a brother, much less a twin. It was said that identical twins had a rare bond, a deep connection that even magic couldn't explain. He wondered what sort of despair the other Weasley twin was feeling now. Would it be the same he would feel if Kingsley had been taken? Could it be any worse?

"Fear not, loyal listeners. This broadcast is safe and secure. I know that all of your thoughts are with River and Rapier now. If there is any information on their whereabouts, then please… please try to respond. This is Sabre. Good night."

The announced turned off and harsh static filled the air. Charlie Weasley turned away. Molly clutched tighter to Arthur. Kingsley was quick to switch the radio off.

Draco felt out of place. He edged a few steps backwards, not knowing how to handle the visible displays of grief in the room. Draco looked from the huddled groups to the dancing flames in the fireplace. The bright stockings hung on the mantle looked out of place, as did the shining, twinkling Christmas tree. Already a few presents had been placed underneath the green boughs.  
He slipped from the room and walked over to the kitchen window. The evening sun was shining outside, glinting on the snow. The wind passed gently over a field, gathering up little clouds of twirling snow dust. Never taught to appreciate the beauty of nature, Draco turned from the winter scene and simply waited. The sun slipped a little further in the sky. Muffled crying sounded from the living room, then voices, alternating between frantic and reassuring. More crying, but softening now.

A figure emerged. Draco looked up to see his partner exit, face grave but composed. Kingsley grabbed the kettle and rummaged for some tea.

"Do you–?" Draco started to ask, but Kingsley looked over and shook his head.

"I got it," he said. "You don't have to hang around."

Kingsley wasn't usually so brusque. Draco paused for a moment, wondering if he should try to say something comforting to his partner, but in the end Draco just left. He had been raised with such abrupt dismissals. It was a relief to escape the emotional turmoil. He retreated to Ginny Weasley's room and shut the door. He retrieved his schoolbooks from his briefcase and settled in at the desk. He was nearly finished with the sixth year Transfigurations lessons, but his classmates would be half-way through the seventh-year text. He was so far behind.

It didn't matter that he had a full-time job. It didn't matter that, because of the current state of the country, he'd been working overtime for half a year. It didn't matter that he was trying to teach the subject to himself, instead of being helped by a certified professor. Draco had always held himself to a higher standard, just like his parents had. He was supposed to be the best at everything.

He finished the last two chapters of book six. It took longer than he wished, but he'd begun to expect the delays. Even after closing the book, he wasn't sure he understood the concept, but his shoulders were aching from leaning over the desk and he was hungry. It must be passed dinner time.

He left the room, cautiously. He was prepared to duck back into relative safety behind the door should he encounter any crying Weasleys. Not that he begrudged them their tears. They should be able to cry. Their son would be dead soon and they should be allowed to observe the proper mourning rites. He just never thought he’d have to observe the observing.

But no Weasleys were about. Even Remus and Tonks were absent. Kingsley was washing dishes in the kitchen. From the looks of it, a small meal had been eaten, not much. There were still sandwiches on the table.

"Feel free," said Kingsley, nodding to the table.

Draco sat and took a sandwich. Kingsley finished the stack in the sink and then joined him at the table. He looked at Draco with that half-apologetic, half-saddened expression.

"What now?" asked Draco, knowing he was going to have to sit through an apology that wasn't necessary. Sometimes Kingsley apologized for the oddest things.

"I was rude," said Kingsley.

Had he been?

"I sent you away. Quite shortly. You were asking to help, showing an ounce of sympathy for a change, and I sent you to your room."

"Hardly my room," said Draco. 

Kingsley ignored him. "I should have explained. I trying to see to Arthur and Molly and Charlie, and you looked uncomfortable, and I didn't think –,"

"You didn't think I should be there. An obvious reminder of the fate of their son," Draco supplied.

Kingsley looked taken aback. "What? No! Is that what you thought? You thought that I sent you out of sight because of Lucius?"

"It's a reasonable conclusion," said Draco. The resemblance was more than a little strong.

"No, it's not. I wanted to talk Order business with them, and I didn't want to start talking with you there, when you haven't decided if you want to join yet.” He shook his head. “I didn't want to pull you in like I've forced you into everything else.”

"Oh," said Draco, and then, “You know that… you know that I’m not mad at you for forcing me out of the Death Eaters, right?”

“You may have mentioned it a few times now. And you were never a Death Eater.”

While that was true, Draco knew it had been a near escape. Voldemort had been getting desperate. He hadn’t been waiting for kids to turn of age anymore. Just that summer, when Draco was getting questioned by Business and Fraud and meeting Kingsley for the first time, some of his classmates had been brought forward for the Mark. 

Kingsley continued. "I'm not ashamed of you. And I’m not going to send you away on the off-chance it makes someone feel better.” 

“Okay.”

“But you just left. Like it was nothing.” Kingsley looked worried about Draco’s compliance, like it had a deeper meaning. 

Draco laughed. “Kingsley, if there is one thing a child growing up in high society is familiar with, it is a dismissal. As it is unacceptable to have a child underfoot, unless that child is being presented for inspection, I am well-versed in the art of removing myself to my room. In fact, many times I find it preferable.” 

If anything, Kingsley looked more pained. “I know that you like having time to yourself, but just because I’m senior detective doesn't mean you have to follow my every order."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do I really follow your every order?" His selective obedience was legendary in the office, to the consternation of his partner and Captain Buchannan.

Kingsley finally relaxed and let out a chuckle. "Alright, you got me there."

Draco nodded and ate his sandwich. Kingsley made a pot of coffee and absent-mindedly sipped at his mug. When he finished with his late dinner, Draco washed his dishes and then returned with his own cup of coffee. Kingsley still frowning at the table.

"They taking it bad?" Draco asked.

"As well as can be expected, considering the circumstances."

Draco nodded. In his limited career as an IRS detective, he'd had to deliver a surprising amount of bad news – although, considering the return of Voldemort, perhaps the amount of bad news was not so surprising. He’d seen a great array of responses to tragedy, from denial and collapse to simple nods and stoic faces. Once there'd been an outbreak of laughter, but the victim had been beating his wife and threatening their children, so Draco couldn't fault the woman for her relief.

But Kingsley was still frowning, and Draco suddenly realized that it wasn't a look of empathy on his partner’s face. Kingsley was thinking. From the furrowed brows and pinched lips, he was thinking something incredibly stupid.

"No," said Draco, understanding in a heartbeat.

Kingsley looked up, startled. "I didn't say anything."

But he was already looking guilty. Draco stared at him, willing his common sense to be telepathically transferred into his partner's thick skull.

"No," he repeated.

"But we have to do something!" Kingsley protested in a low voice. No doubt to keep from disturbing the grieving family.

"You made them dinner and gave them a shoulder to cry on. You did something.” At least, that’s what Kingsley was always telling him to do to comfort someone.

“It’s not good enough. I've known Fred Weasley since he was kid. I can't imagine what his parents feel right now, not to mention George."

"There is suffering in this world, Kings. Just because shit happens doesn't mean you have to jump on your white horse and play Potter. Think for a minute. What could you possible do?"

"I won't know until I try.” Kingsley drained his coffee. Draco watched, in horrified silence, as his partner stood, gave him a brisk nod, and then headed for the stairs.

He couldn't be serious. 

But he knew his partner. And even though the idea of running out and trying to find one red-headed man in all of Wizarding England was ludicrous in his mind, to Kingsley, it probably sounded like a fool-proof plan.

" _Iuppiter te perdat_ ," he swore under his breath, and then followed after his partner.

"Where are you even going to start?" Draco demanded.

Kingsley was pulling on his weapons in his borrowed upstairs room. Draco watched the knives get secreted into tall boots and tiny flash-potions stored in pockets along his belt.

"The shop," said Kingsley. He slipped two pairs of magical restraints in their holder on his belt, then a communications charm. "Something about the report has been bugging me."

"The part about the Death Eaters surrounding the house, in a surprisingly tactical move, not to mention the all-black outfits, no white masks?" Draco asked.

"And the fact that it occurred in the middle of the day," Kingsley added. "It bugged you too, didn't it?"

It had, but Draco was loathed to admit it. "What about the Holden case?" he argued. "You told me inconsistencies aren't necessarily indicative of a greater conspiracy."

"Completely different circumstances. That was an old murder, the victim had been dead for thirty years, and magical decay impacts the crime scene in funny ways. Not to mention, memories are notoriously faulty after that amount of time. These inconsistencies have been clearly reported, and we know that there is a conspiracy taking place right now.” 

Kingsley pulled on his long red-leather coat.

"How are you even going to get to the shop?" Draco challenged. "It's not like you can stroll down Diagon Alley wearing that."

"I'll figure something out," said Kingsley.

Draco groaned and pressed his hand to his forehead. Merlin, he couldn't believe he was about to do this.

"Fine," he growled. "We'll Floo to my place."

"Your place is gone," said Kingsley.

"Yeah," said Draco. "But do you think they knew about my car?"

**Muggle London  
The Pierce Building  
December 24th  
8:12 pm**

"Merlin, Sunshine. I'm sorry."

Kingsley looked about at the wreckage in the deluxe apartment, hardly recognizing the flat. The designer furniture, furniture that Draco had paid someone else to pick out, had been reduced to nothing more than piles of wood and scrap material. The pictures on the walls had been targeted with fire spells. Large, black blotches of burned paint and plaster covered the spots where they had once hung. The carpet, once plush and thick, with subtle flourishes of color, was burnt to ash. 

Draco didn't stay to examine the damage, but then again, it hadn't really been a home for him. It'd been a forced exile from magical England. Draco picked his way over to the door, or where the door had once been. Now there was only police tape. Kingsley wondered how this was explained to Draco's Muggle landlord and neighbors.

Giving the once luxurious apartment one last look, Kingsley followed his partner out into the hall and down the stairs. The parking garage was a well-lit, covered lot. The Ferrari was in its usual spot, on the far end of the garage. It was still bright, glaring red, a prank pulled by Pat Savage. The car had been a gleaming emerald before Pat got his hands on a can of paint.

The car's headlights flashed as Draco unlocked the car with one Latin word. It was a wise wizard who realized that there was something about flashy cars that appealed to every teenager, be they wizard or Muggle. Adapting the cars to respond to spells by their owners was a stroke of genius that had paid very well at the bank. Kingsley slipped into the passenger's seat, the chair pushed as far back as possible to accommodate his large frame. Draco ran his hands over the steering wheel, a smile pulling at his lips. Oh yes, even the Pureblood son of Lucius Malfoy loved the Muggle invention of the automobile.

The engine purred to life and Draco pulled out of the parking spot with the ease of a racecar veteran. The car sped through the streets of London. Kingsley wasn't sure Draco understood the concept of a speed limit, but the car hugged low to the ground, easily making the sharp turns Draco demanded.

The vehicle entrance to Diagon Alley was found on a rarely used bridge south of central London. It was rarely used because of the construction sign that blocked the entrance and kept Muggles away. The repairs were never completed, giving the Muggle citizens of the city another reason to detest morning traffic.

Draco wove the car through the construction cones on the beginning of the bridge. The cones were similar to the boundary at King's Cross, giving way to those who drove at them with intent and allowing vehicles and people to simply pass through, but Draco seemed loathe to aim his Ferrari deliberately at anything. Kingsley grinned as his obsessive partner maneuvered his car with ease and then, once they reached the other side, they appeared at the end of Diagon Alley, moving silently through the dark, empty street.

It was Christmas Eve. The street should be full of life and lights. The Christmas market should be in full swing as shoppers bought one last present, or ice skated on the rink that was usually set up in the middle of the square. There should be stalls selling butterbeer and mulled wine and hot chestnuts. There should be a group of drunk and disorderly wizards and witches to Floo home before they splinched themselves trying to Apparate while intoxicated. Now, the streets were empty, and the only light came from dim streetlamps, half of them broken. 

"Obscuro," Draco commanded.

The headlights flicked off and the camouflaging charms took hold, keeping the car hidden in the shadows. Draco slowed down to a crawl, letting them look out over the desolation. They passed a few figures, the huddled, slouching forms were the customary waifs that drifted through the streets. The ones that strode with purpose, heads held high and wands drawn, were the army of Voldemort. The Ferrari, magicked to be silent and invisible, passed by unnoticed. That didn't stop Kingsley from holding his breath each time they passed a Death Eater.

The Weasley shop was tucked into a prominent row of businesses. It had once been a cheerfully decorated, shining beacon of fun and laughter. Now, even in the dim light, the damage was obvious. Windows were shattered, leaving jagged edges in the frames. Shutters were torn down or left hanging by one corner. The front steps were cracked and sagging. The front sign was completely gone.

Draco pulled the Ferrari onto the low sidewalk and parked. The two Aurors looked about before slipping out of the car and into the store. 

There was no door. No wards to signal that they had entered. After the store had been seized, the attackers had left the rest of the shop to the mercy of vandals. Everything of value had been taken, leaving bare, broken shelves and scattered debris across the floor. Graffiti had been scrawled across the walls. Some were the typical pictures and scripts of teenaged delinquents. Other messages were from the Death Eaters. _Mud-blood lovers. Blood traitors. The Dark Lord has risen._

Kingsley scanned the room for any traps or hidden wards. He didn't turn when Draco called his name until he was sure there were no threats.

"What did you find?" 

Draco held up a sheet of paper and risked a low lighting charm. The words were in block letters, red, a warning.

_The Owners of this Establishment  
have been Arrested for Spreading  
PROPAGANDA  
Intended to Frighten Citizens and  
Promote a Revolt against the Ministry of England. _

_Any information concerning these or other such enemies of the nation should be reported to the Magical Preservative Unit._

"They weren’t Death Eaters," said Draco.

"They've got the Ministry now. And the fools left in place don't even know who they're working for."

"With measures like this, things are going to get ugly. Fast."

Kingsley nodded. Arrests were being made on the behalf of the Death Eaters, but now they were destroying shops and homes. What atrocities would the Ministry be coerced to commit next?

"The good news is we know it's the Ministry," he said. "They'd only take Fred and Lee one place."

Draco looked over and raised an eyebrow. "The holding cells in the IRS?"

"They were renovated not two years ago. You can attest to their comfort."

"I never had to stay overnight."

"Then let's make sure neither do Fred and Lee."

**England  
The Ministry of Magic  
December 24th  
9:35 pm**

"I don't like it," said Kingsley.

Draco gave him a smirk. "Don't think I can pull it off?"

He straightened his clothes one more time, making sure there wasn't a single wrinkle. He was glad he'd taken the opportunity to change before leaving on this expedition with Kingsley. As his mother was fond of saying, “the proper attire will open doors before your wallet can.”

"No. I just don't like the idea of you walking in there without backup."

"I'll be fine," said Draco. “Besides, we never got use this ruse before. It’s a little disappointing.”

“I’ve never wanted you to have to use this ruse.”

“Well, there’s got to be some sort of benefit to being Lucius’ son.”

The words sounded more bitter than he intended. He glanced up to see Kingsley frown. 

“Draco –,”

“Hold this for me,” he interrupted, tossing his Auror’s coat to this partner. 

“Draco.” 

He reached for the doorknob and looked back. “He was the one that hexed you.”

“ _Draco_.”

He yanked open the door and stepped out into the quiet, empty halls of the Ministry of Magic. He heard his partner hissing behind him, so he quickly shut the door and strode towards the IRS office. Getting into the Ministry was simple. Even Potter and his friends had done it. And even though security had been heightened since then, it was pathetically easy to slip through the wards and locks. Then again, they did have insider knowledge. He’d been working here for over a year, and Kingsley for ten. They’d learned all the back entrances and trick doors. 

Getting inside had been the easy part. Now Draco needed to fool the skeleton guard left on post. 

He made sure to keep his steps at a steady, unconcerned stroll. His polished black boots made soft footfalls on the tile floor. His charcoal trousers were perfectly creased, and his matching jacket was worn open, to show off the ivory silk shirt, the pearl buttons, and the silver brocade waistcoat. He held his wand casually in his left hand. 

The door to the IRS office opened on his approach, still recognizing his magical signature, and he stepped into the small reception room at the front of the IRS office. He grinned at the startled Magical Preservation guard on duty, but inwardly, he cursed. He didn’t recognize this this, hawk-nosed Ministry drone. The ruse would have been more convincing if the guard was a Death Eater.

"Happy Christmas,” Draco said, stopping at the tall counter and leaned against the top. "I hope you aren't working tomorrow as well?"

"I… what? What are you-?" 

The guard was flustered. Draco didn’t comment on it.

"I trust Yaxley's still with our guests?" he asked. "My father asked me to find him, something about not getting an RSVP for the Christmas banquet at the Manor. If he – oh," he broke off, as if finally noticing the guard's confusion. "Oh. You still think…," he laughed and shook his head. "Listen, the papers will be running the story after Christmas."

"What story?" 

"The return of the lost Malfoy heir," said Draco, gesturing at himself grandly. "I wasn't actually _lost_ , you know. My father realized, when he was falsely convicted and sent to Azkaban, that the rebellion had infiltrated more deeply than anyone could have realized. That's why I took up with the Aurors, to keep him and other key personnel informed."

The guard wasn't completely convinced, but he was doubtful. That was all Draco needed to prompt a little bit more information. 

"So, Yaxley," he prompted. "Is he back there or is it Dolohov?"

"Yaxley's still here. Not Dolohov though, just two MP's, Carrs and Barkley."

Carrs was once an II Auror, before he’d been fired for taking a bribe. Draco wouldn't be surprised to discover he'd joined ranks with the Death Eaters. Barkley was simply an opportunist with a narcissism disorder. No doubt he still though he was a loyal son of the government. Still, there were only three. It was better than Draco hoped.

"Thanks," he said, and then he grabbed his gun from where it was holstered in the small of his back, whipped it out, and shot the guard with a stun spell. He raised his communication’s watch to his mouth. "Clear in front. Three in back."

Kingsley’s voice came back. “Stay there and wait for me.”

It was an order that Draco would have followed, had not the door to the bullpen opened. Carrs stepped out. He looked between the guard on the floor and Draco with his gun drawn. Draco fired again, but Carrs ducked and tumbled backwards into the office.

"Shit!" Draco swore. So much for waiting for Kingsley. He couldn't Carrs raise the alarm. He only hoped that the office layout hadn't been changed since last week.

He grabbed the wheeled chair from the secretary's desk and leveled a quick protection charm on it. A few months ago, Pat had coerced Draco into a rolling chair race through the IRS bullpen. It had ended in disaster, barreling into Ellington and then taking out Penelope's desk. Pat sprained his wrist and Draco got a bloody nose. They'd both received a stern reprimand from Buchannan. Draco only hoped this ended a little better.

Draco blasted down the door and then lunged onto the chair, picking up speed with a propelling charm. He hurled into the bullpen, crouched on the seat, behind the tall chairback as spells were fired at him. He managed to fire off another shot at Carrs, this time felling the former II agent, but he couldn't ascertain Barkley's or Yaxley's position.

It didn't matter. He had a destination in mind.

Ellington, despite being the most senior detective, kept the worst desk simply because of its positioning. It was an L-shaped desk set in the corner, and the windows that hemmed it in provided a reflective surface so he could avoid the worst of the airplane battles. The chair was losing momentum, but the desk was within range now. Draco dove over the top, landing hard on his hands and knees, but he was safe for the moment. He pulled out his wand and glanced at the windows. Barkley was in the opposite corner. Yaxley was in Buchannan's office. Very well. Barkley first.

Draco called up a shield, stood, and cast the Ventus jinx. Barkley went down with a shout. Too easy.

Of course, Yaxley had been using Barkley to pull Draco out. No matter. Draco ducked back down, catching an edge of the infero curse, not enough to burn his skin, but enough to send him to the ground a little faster than he meant to duck. The air around him flashed with the heat of the curse, and then there was a very familiar yell.

A new barrage of curses swept through the air, this time directed at Yaxley from Kingsley. Draco rolled from the behind the desk and, taking advantage of the split-second opportunity, fired his ACE. The revolver jerked in his hand with the discharge of the spell, but Yaxley was already Disapparating.

"Damn," said Draco. He got to his feet only to be accosted by Kingsley who could move quite quickly for a man his size.

"I thought I said to wait for me!"

The large Auror was irked, to say the least. Draco tried to extricate his arm from his partner's grip.

"Believe me, I would have. Unfortunately Carrs forced my involvement."

"You couldn't have tried smooth-talking him as well?"

"The guard was already unconscious and my gun was out. How was I supposed to have explained it?"

Kingsley opened his mouth, considered his point, and sighed. "Just…don't do that again, alright?"

"I believe I can safely promise not to fire upon a Death Eater in the IRS office while attempting to locate and extricate two hosts of Potterwatch from our own holding cells without waiting for your assistance ever again," said Draco.

Kingsley was unimpressed. Draco grinned and moved off to the door at the far end of the room. It opened into a foyer of sorts with six doors. Three of the doors led to viewing rooms. Three led to plain, concrete holding cells. 

Two of the doors were closed with indicator lights showing that they were occupied. Draco peered into the first, through the one-way glass window in the door, and saw the Weasley twin and Lee Jordan sitting on the floor. The table and chairs that were typically in the cells had been removed. He swung the door open with a flourish.

"Happy Christmas. Who wants out?"

The two looked up, startled. Draco could see bruises and scrapes on their faces and arms. Their clothing was torn in some areas. They'd fought hard but none seemed grievously injured.

"Fred!" Kingsley exclaimed from behind Draco. He tossed Draco's red-leather duster over his head and pushed passed him to see to the two radio hosts. Draco pulled the coat off his head with a scowl. Seeing that Kingsley had the situation in hand, he turned and crossed over to the second holding cell.

He peeked in the window. This room had a table and chairs. There was even a small, uncomfortable looking cot in the corner. The sole occupant of the room sat on top of the table, her legs crossed in some odd, flexible way. Dirty blonde hair spilled down her thin shoulders in tangled waves.

Draco opened the door. Luna Lovegood opened dark cobalt eyes, the color of the ocean on a cloudy day.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, obviously surprised to see him. Her head tilted to the side. "Draco Malfoy," she repeated. "The dragon of the bad faith. It's a very poetic name. I hadn't noticed before. What's your middle name?"

It was an odd question, but then again, she was an odd girl.

"Banan," said Draco.

She smiled. "So, you are not the Dragon of the Bad Faith, but Dragon, Slayer of the Bad Faith."

Draco snorted. "You're grasping. Would you like to continue discussing the meaning of names or would you like to leave?"

She hopped off the table. "A strange twist of fate," she mused aloud. "Last time I saw you, I was in a locked room and you were trying to get in. Now you are letting me out."

She was speaking of Dumbledore's Army. She stopped to put on her boots, leisurely, as if she had all the time in the world. Draco resisted the urge to sigh. Apparently oddities knew little of time constraints. And nothing about fashion. She wore a lacy, off-white dress over torn, plum stockings. Over the dress was a poorly knitted teal cardigan and a burnt orange scarf was tied as a hairband about her head. The boots she was pulling on were brown, but with pink ribbon laces. 

She stood once she had manipulated the boot laces into a knotted mess that looked as if they would never be removed. Her cardigan slipped over her pale shoulder; it was torn at the neckline, no doubt from her arrest. In fact, her stockings might have been unripped at one point in time. They were split over scrapes on her legs, scabbed over with dried blood. A bruise shadowed her jaw blue and green.

Draco had not sought out the position of Detective-Auror. He did not care much about justice or fighting crime. He had been taught, all throughout his childhood, to exploit the law for profit and corrupt the judicial system for his personal benefit. But he had also been raised with manners, and while Lucius frequently discarded etiquette whenever he pleased, Draco had taken the lessons to heart. That had earned him the ire of his father, and the pleased smile of his mother. It was that belief in proper conduct that had his blood heat at the sight of the bruise, and the scrapes, and the torn cardigan. He immediately slipped off his suit jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

"I'm afraid it clashes with your ensemble," he said. He preferred blacks and neutrals with accents of jewel tones to her warm earth hues.

Luna stuck her arms through the sleeves. It was too big, leaving only her fingertips visible, but she wrapped the jacket tight around her frame. “Thank you.”

Draco pulled on his red-leather coat, fingers automatically checking the pockets for his equipment, and led the way out of the cell.

"Loony!" Fred exclaimed. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at the offensive nickname, but the girl smiled and patted Fred's arm reassuringly. "I told them about the infestation of Patty-Worgs. I don't think they believed me."

"Well, why are you warning them anyways? We're not supposed to help them out after all they've done."

"They were using her to keep the Quibbler out-of-print," said Lee quietly to Kingsley. Draco listened in as well. "We just found out when we were brought in. They took her off the Hogwarts train."

"Speaking of 'they'," said Kingsley, "we ought to get out of here while we can. No doubt the alarm is being sounded, and I’d rather not wait to find out who comes in next."

Fred and Lee exchanged a panicked look.

"We have to go," said Fred, and he took off for the door, nearly at a run.

"Whoa, wait up there," Kingsley said, leaping forward and catching him by the arm. "What's wrong?"

"We have to go to Shell Cottage. They used Veritaserum on us, and asked where George would have gone with the radio. He would have gone there. To Bill and Fleur. They know where it is.” 

"How long ago?" Kingsley asked.

"An hour."

Kingsley looked over and Draco understood the question.

"More than enough time to organize a Death Eater strike force and raze a house to the ground. I'm assuming, however, that as members of the Order, Dumbledore had the foresight to put up wards. We should still leave now. There’s no telling how long the wards will hold. If Voldemort's with them…" he trailed off. He didn’t need to say it.

"Right," said Kingsley. "This way."

Kingsley led the way out to the main office, detouring once by Buchannan's office to pick up the confiscated wands.

"Have enough room in the Ferrari, you think?" he asked Draco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting intense! Please leave a review on your way out!


	7. Friendly Fire

**England  
6 km past Tinhorn  
December 24th  
10:08 pm**

"Shit!"

Draco slammed on the breaks and swerved. His car responded beautifully, it always did, but it was an abrupt stop and his seat belt locked. There was a surprised 'Oof!' behind him as their forward momentum ended and they all snapped against the back of their seats.

"Drive much, Malfoy?" That was Fred.

"There's so many of them!"

That was Luna, sitting in between Fred and Lee in the back. She sat forward, poking her head between the two front seats and peering out the windshield. Her hair, long and unbound, brushed across Draco's cheek. He flinched back at the unexpected touch, glancing over to see her enraptured expression as she stared at the thestrals outside.

"What?" asked Fred.

"Thestrals," said Luna reverently. "A whole flock of them."

Draco glanced back in his review mirror. Fred was straining forward, but obviously not seeing any of the winged horses. Lee was similarly blind to the animals. Such innocence could not last long with the approaching hostilities.

"Some say thestrals gather around places meant for tragedy," said Luna.

"Old witch tale," said Kingsley.

"Let's not wait to find out," said Draco. He honked the horn and flashed his lights. The thestrals slowly began to amble off the road, too slowly. Draco revved the engine and then a flash of light lit up the sky farther down the road. It reflected off the thick clouds that hid the moon and stars. It was impossible to see what had caused it. The road was dark and narrow, and tall trees edged the sides. Draco blared the horn and jammed on the accelerator, not caring if he hit one of the beasts and dented his fender. The thestrals shrieked and beat their leathery wings to pull themselves up and off the road.

"That's got to be the house," said Fred, his voice gaining an edge of panic. "We have to help them."

"Easy, Fred," said Kingsley.

Draco sped down the twisting path. It was a newer road, or newly paved over. That meant he could take the curves at a somewhat reckless speed and not worry about skidding out on loose gravel.

The light grew brighter as they approached, and then the trees were gone and Draco hastily killed the headlights on the car. They weren't necessary anymore. Death Eaters had surrounded the house, casting bright spells that sparked against the wards. The shield wards were invisible, except when deflecting the curses, then it shone, a bright, blue bubble that protected the house. The shield was holding, but not well. A few of the Death Eaters had banded together in the front of the lawn, casting their spells simultaneously, causing great flashes of light as they repeatedly hit the barrier in the same section, again and again. That’s what had drawn their attention from the road.

Draco stopped the car before they drove into the light of the ongoing battle. "Obscuro," he commanded, and then shifted gears into park.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Fred demanded. "We have to save them!"

The red-head fumbled for the door, but Draco hit the lock button. Beside him, Kingsley unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around.

"There are thirty Death Eaters around that house," he said. "We're going to need a plan."

Draco tuned out the arguments of Fred, who was not ready to listen to reason just yet. Instead he surveyed the house.

Shell Cottage was situated by the coast. Draco hadn't realized how near the coast was until now. It perched on a small cliff, overlooking the sea. The last half-kilometer up to the cottage was open and unprotected by the thick forest. The Death Eaters hadn't cast the Dark Mark yet. Shell Cottage had no direct neighbors, but the Dark Mark would be visible all the way to the small town of Tinhorn. Help would come then. Draco knew the Death Eaters didn’t want that attention, not yet. And he also knew the Death Eaters would want to credit the attack to the Ministry, so that it could be labeled as a “raid on forces hostile to the government.” The Dark Mark would prevent that claim from being made.

"Thinking what I'm thinking?"

Draco glanced over at his partner. "The wards aren't going to last the five minutes we'd need."

"I know," said Kingsley. "You've still got the brooms in the back of your car though. You could –,”

"Like hell," said Draco. He wasn’t separating from his partner. He glanced in the review mirror. "Let the civilians go in. They’ll have to double up on a broom, but if they circle around from the cliff side they could get in, assuming they have a key?" Draco twisted around to look at Fred. "Do you have a pass through the wards?" 

"Yes," said Fred. "What are –,"

But Draco was already getting out of the car. He walked around to the trunk, the other passengers disembarking as well. There were two broom cases in the trunk of the car, Draco’s and Kingsley’s. Draco flipped the lids and tossed one to Fred, the other to Lee.

"One of you will have to double," he said, nodding at Luna. "Circle through the woods and then towards the sea. Approach the house from the cliff side and get in as quickly as possible."

"What are you going to do?" asked Fred, a challenge in his voice.

"We're going to run the Death Eaters off," Kingsley answered. "But time's going to be short, and the wards aren’t going to last long. You need to get everyone in the house into a defendable room. Understand?"

Kingsley was much better at inspiring obedience. It must be the sheer size of him coupled with his deep voice… and the fact that he was older than seventeen and didn’t look like a younger Lucius Malfoy.

"We understand," said Lee. He mounted the broom. Fred did as well and then held out a hand to Luna. She slid on behind him, wrapping her arms tight around his chest. Fred grinned and patted her hands reassuringly. Draco glowered.

"Let's go," said Fred, and kicked off into the air.

**England  
6 km outside of Tinhorn  
December 24th  
10:17pm**

Draco snapped the wheel to the right and the car skidded around, tires squealing on the road, leaving visible marks of their sudden one-eighty turn. Usually Draco was much nicer to his vehicle.

Kingsley hid a smile. "Luna's quite a lovely girl, don't you think?"

Draco revved the engine, staring single-mindedly at the road ahead. While it was somewhat of a winding street, it didn't deserve that much premeditation. Draco was ignoring him.

"She looks quite well in your jacket, too," he said, unable to resist another jibe.

The car leapt forward, the force throwing Kingsley back in his seat, but he rather deserved the lack of warning. It was rude to distract an Auror right before a battle.

"Fulgaro," Draco commanded. "Sonor."

Flashing lights burst from the top of the car and the siren began to wail. It was the same siren used by Aurors before a raid or while chasing suspects. It would be enough to pull the Death Eaters' attention from the house to the arriving cavalry, but they wouldn’t take the threat of arriving Aurors seriously. They knew that most of the good Aurors had been fired. The only troops left to respond would be few in number and in resources.

But Kingsley and Draco weren’t coming in alone. 

Up ahead, the dark shapes of the thestrals started at the disturbance. They turned and ran, trying to get away from the blaring horn and flashing lights. Some took to the air, but those in the woods galloped on the frozen ground, unable to lift off under the branches of the trees. They pounded ahead of the car, an entire herd of winged, skeletal horses, carrying with them not only sharp hooves and teeth, but the terrifying thought that they were the harbingers of death.

The thestrals burst through the edge of the wood, barreling down towards the Death Eaters. The wards on the house had indeed been breached, but the majority of the dark-robed followers were still outside of the house. They turned towards the stampede and fell back in terror. 

The chaos was exactly what Kingsley had expected. Some threw up their hands, too paralyzed to remember to move their feet. Others tried to shoot spells, but it was difficult to hit the black horses who blended into the night sky. Most of the Death Eaters ran, Disapparating with loud pops and bangs. And that was when the Ferrari arrived, the lights and sirens adding to the fear. Kingsley jumped out, wand and gun in his hand. Draco was a second behind him, throwing the car into park and exiting, revolver firing. His accuracy with the Muggle-inspired weapon was more than a little disturbing.

It took less than a minute for the Death Eaters outside disappear with a spell or Portkey. Together, he and Draco stunned some, maybe eight, and threw on immobilization charms, but didn't stay to apprehend them. The door to the cottage had been forced open, a few windows broken. They could hear a battle being fought inside.

Kingsley ran up onto the porch and ducked beside the door. Draco took position on the other side and glanced over, ready for instructions. Kingsley signaled with hand signs. He'd take the front; Draco should go around back. Draco nodded and disappeared behind the corner of the house. Kingsley watched him leave, desperately wishing they had back-up. He shook the worry off and ran into the house.

He saw a small front hall and stairs leading up to the second floor. There was a parlor to the right, and a Death Eater inside. Kingsley cast his charm a split second before the robed follower. The man hit the floor. Kingsley quickly glanced through the rest of the room, clear. He moved into the room behind that, a sun room of sorts with large windows overlooking the coast.

There was a shout and footsteps to his left. Kingsley ran through the back hall into the kitchen. He caught of glimpse of his partner in pursuit of another Death Eater. He sprinted after them, hearing a crash and then rounding the corner to see the Death Eater jumping through a window.

Draco skidded to a stop, not following through the broken glass because this wasn't a raid, it was simply a… house cleaning of sorts. Draco turned for the front hall. There was a blast of magic and he was flung backwards. His body flew through the air, hitting the edge of a china cabinet, and Kingsley wasn't able to miss the sight of his partner's head bouncing off the wooden corner. The world narrowed on the figure emerging from the front hall. Kingsley was across the room in an instant, hand closing around the man's neck. He picked him up, shoved him against the wall.

"You bastard!" he hissed, and then he recognized the startled face, and stepped back, letting the man drop to the floor.

"Kingsley?" the man asked, confused and shaken.

Kingsley's hands curled into fists with the effort not to continue the pummeling. He glanced over at his partner, crumpled on the floor. He saw Draco move, one arm pulling in closer, but then he went limp. Kingsley grabbed Bill's arm and shoved him towards Draco.

"Don't let anything else happen to him!" he demanded. And then he turned, ignoring the instinct that said to run to his partner, and started up the stairs.

Two Death Eaters were trying to get into a closed door. They saw him and ran for the hall window, realizing their time was up. They didn't make it. A curse, bolstered by rage, sent the two of them down. He stalked forward and snapped metal bracelets over their wrists, chaining them together even though it wasn’t likely they’d wake up anytime in the next twelve hours, not with that curse. He pulled them into an empty bedroom and locked the door.

He swept the rest of the upstairs, clearing a room that was in the process of being turned into a nursery and a sewing room before banging on the warded bedroom door.

"You can come out now," he called.

The door opened cautiously and Fleur peered out. "All safe?" 

Kingsley nodded.

"Hey, did you find Bill?" Fred asked behind her.

Kingsley turned and headed down the stairs. Bill was leaning over Draco, holding a cloth to his head.

"Kingsley, I didn't know…,"

He stepped back as Kingsley approached. Kingsley knelt beside his partner and pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from his head. There was a small gash on Draco’s temple. It was ugly, and streaming blood the way the head injuries always do, but it didn’t look too deep. The blood had stained the side of his face, and streaked through his nearly colorless hair. There was a small puddle of it growing on the floor. Kingsley slipped his fingers underneath Draco’s jaw. He found a strong pulse, and his breathing was even. Kingsley let out a relieved breath and then pressed the cloth back on the wound. Draco didn't stir.

"You have a medical kit?" he asked Bill. He had rudimentary healing potions on his person, but a fully stocked first aid case would have higher quality medicines.

"Yeah, I'll get it.” Bill hurried off just as the others came down.

"He okay?"

Kingsley glanced over. The entire group had drifted over, unable to resist the pull of the small drama taking place in the dining room. Fred had asked. He was in the front of the audience, his twin right beside him.

"He'll be fine," said Kingsley.

"We can move him," said Fleur. "Ze couch will be much more comfortable, yes?"

Kingsley nodded and gently scooped up his partner, not bothering with a levitation charm. Draco still had to put on his adult weight and wasn't much of a burden to speak of. He followed Fleur into the sunroom. She snapped her fingers and the lamps lit all about the room. It was a spacious area, full of comfortable looking couches and armchairs. The drapes were drawn over the wall of windows now, but Kingsley figured that in daylight, they had a perfect view of the ocean. 

"He is ze Malfoy boy?" Fleur asked in light curiosity.

“Yes,” said Kingsley shortly. 

He set Draco down on the nearest couch. Fleur brought over a few pillows to prop his head up.

Fleur nodded. "I can take 'is coat."

Kingsley carefully pulled the red-leather duster off his partner and handed it over. He noticed the blood on the coat, and also the blood transferring from Draco's head to the couch and pillow.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, just to be polite.

"It is no problem. I know good spells. I will clean zis for you." She left, passing her husband in the doorway.

"Here you go," said Bill, handing over the medical kit.

Kingsley popped it open. As an IRS Detective-Auror, Kingsley was quite experienced with minor field injuries, sprained wrists or ankles, hairline fractures, and so forth. All the IRS attended a yearly seminar on proper emergency medical care and went through a certification program. Still, he would have much rather taken Draco to St. Mungos, just to be safe, but they needed to keep a low profile. He uncapped a bottle of sealant, liberally dosed a clean piece of gauze, and gently blotted the torn skin on Draco's scalp. The bleeding slowed as the sealant did its work. Next Kingsley retrieved a tiny vial of blood-replenishing potion. It was a little work, getting his unconscious partner to swallow it, but a quick charm ensured the potion made its way down Draco's throat. He left the pain-relieving potion on the coffee table for when Draco woke up.

"He'll be okay, right?" 

Kingsley looked over at Bill and nodded.

"So… he's an Auror?" the eldest Weasley child asked.

"He's my partner.”

"Oh," said Bill, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "Listen, Kingsley, I'm real sorry. I didn't know, there was fighting, he was running, and I just… reacted."

"He's wearing a bloody uniform.” Kingsley didn't mean for his voice to bite with irritation.

"I know," said Bill. "I just… the Aurors are overrun, and I thought… I'm sorry."

Kingsley shook his head wearily. "It's alright. You couldn't have known."

But he was getting tired of these sorts of situations. He knew that Draco strongly resembled Lucius, but was that supposed to excuse all the poor behavior towards his partner?

"Who've you got in the house?" Kingsley asked, to change the subject for his own sake as well as Bill's.

"Myself and Fleur and Ted Tonks. George came by just a few hours ago, and then your crew."

"Ted's here?" asked Kingsley in surprise. It seemed that the holiday would be full of Draco discovering his denounced relatives. "What about Andromeda?"

"They got split up. They were supposed to meet here weeks ago, but she hasn't shown up. We haven't had any word from her. Ted's beside himself, to say the least. A lot like George was actually."

Kingsley glanced over his shoulder. The twins were standing in the doorway, not touching, but close enough they could be. He hadn't seen their meeting, but he knew there had probably been a joke and a laugh, and all the relief would be internal, for the two of them to feel and nobody else to see. 

"What's the prognosis?" Fred asked.

"He'll be out for a while, but there’s no lasting harm." The blood-replenishing potion would keep Draco out for an hour or so. The rapid multiplication of blood cells was a draining process, and consciousness required far too much energy. His body would drift into a deep sleep, and hopefully his dreams would be restful.

"Good," said Fred. "What should we do with the Death Eater in the drawing room?"

"Put him in the guest room. There's two more in there. They won't be able to get out."

And then someone was going to have to decide what to do with them. The Ministry wouldn't arrest them, and the Order did not have the facility, nor the means, to keep prisoners. Getting rid of them permanently would be the most practical solution, but morally, he didn't think anyone at the Order would condone such an action.

Fleur stopped in, giving her husband a warm smile before turning to Kingsley. "I thought I might put a late dinner in ze oven. Unless you think zey will return?"

"Don't think they will," said Kingsley. "We scared them off pretty well, and they must assume we've moved on by now."

"We'll have to leave though, won't we?" Bill asked.

Kingsley nodded. "We'll take you back to the Burrow. Once Draco wakes up."

**England  
Shell Cottage  
December 24th  
11:55 pm**

Fred and George were okay now. They'd been separated before, of course. They'd never needed to be bonded at the hip, the way that some twins did. Physical separation happened and occurred without a fuss or worry. But all of those separations had been voluntary. It was different when Fred was taken by the Ministry and George had fled.

They'd known the other was physically well. The few bruises Fred had received were minor and George had sensed that. But he'd also sensed the danger. It was like the air had become heavy, and was pressing in, constricting his chest. And Fred, for an hour or so, had known that George was on the run. It was a lurch of the stomach, like a roller coaster.

But they were okay now.

The late meal had reflected the general relief of everyone at the table. Fred and George cracked jokes, often times bantering off of Lee. They left the table in stitches, well, Ted wasn't laughing much. He kept rubbing the compass in his hand, the one that should be pointing him to his wife, but the compass had been broken, and the link – a drop of her blood – had been lost. Kingsley laughed with them, loud and hearty, and gave a few of his own jokes, obviously edited for content in deference to Fleur and Luna. Every ten minutes or so, he got up to see if his partner had woken up.

Fleur had moved dessert and coffee into the sunroom, just for Kingsley's peace of mind. Now, with stomachs full and dishes cleared away, Fred occupied himself with fixing the radio. There wasn't any real damage, just some dents and sketchy spellwork. George was sitting next to him, watching Draco Malfoy sleeping on the couch across from them. He wasn't watching because he thought there was a threat, but rather because his twin was so unconcerned with Draco's presence in the house. George didn’t know why he wasn’t bothered.

Fred set the radio down on the table, a pleased grin on his face that George didn't need to turn to see. "Done," he said proudly, to the rest of the room.

Luna looked over, from where she was curled up on an armchair, and then she turned back to staring absently at the ceiling. She was wrapping a strand of hair around her finger. Every so often, her eyes drifted shut as sleep gradually crept up on her. Lee had already succumbed and was even snoring slightly in the corner of the room, his arm hanging low over the couch. Bill smiled, still standing in the doorway. His hunched shoulders showed that he still felt guilty.

George tipped his head to the side as Draco stirred. One pale hand curled into a fist and his head turned to the side. A few, unintelligible syllables were murmured. Kingsley was immediately beside the couch, sitting on the edge and leaning over Draco.

"Draco," he said, as if that one word was going to rouse his partner.

But it seemed to work. Draco stirred again, bringing a hand up to his head, but Kingsley caught his wrist before exploring fingers could encounter the wound on his temple. Draco muttered again. This time, it was obvious the language was foreign and not simply incoherent.

"Speak English, Sunshine," said Kingsley. "You know I don't understand that fancy speech of yours."

Fred and George exchanged a grin. Sunshine?

Draco's eyes opened and then blinked against the light. He groaned and tried to put a hand to his head again, but Kingsley still held his wrist. He caught the other hand too and Draco scowled, looking more like a thundercloud than a ray of sunshine.

"Easy. You hit your head pretty hard."

"No shit, Sherlock."

It was a Muggle phrase, one that had permeated wizarding society as there weren’t any good magical mystery authors, but Fred and George never expected to hear it from the lips of a traditionalist like Malfoy, much less in such a withering tone. So they laughed.

Narrowed grey eyes glanced in their direction, and then Draco was pulling back from Kingsley and trying to sit up. Kingsley let him. Once he was upright, he groaned again and finally touched the scabbed over cut on his head. He swore. 

Kingsley crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. 

Draco glared back. 

Kingsley smirked. 

Draco looked pointedly away.

Fred and George recognized the silent communication, though it wasn't quite as developed as their own.

"Who hit me?" Draco asked.

Well, that was a bit awkward. Fred and George looked over to Bill who flushed.

"I'm really sorry," he said, starting forward. His cheeks were red, his expression sincere. "I didn't –,"

"You're the curse-breaker," Draco interrupted. "Right?"

Bill frowned, but nodded. "Six years now."

"And one of the fastest on the draw," said Kingsley. "Don't worry Sunshine. You weren't taken out by an amateur."

Draco scowled at the nickname, but seemed very much relieved. Fred and George came to the understanding at the same time. For as embarrassing as it must have been for Bill, firing on one of their own, it must be equally as embarrassing for an IRS Detective-Auror to be taken out by friendly fire. If he was truly a Detective-Auror, that is. They were still a little unsure about that claim.

"Should probably get your head cleaned up," Kingsley said.

The right side of Draco's face was smeared with dried blood, and his hair was stained red and stiff.

"We'll help," said George, and Fred was momentarily taken aback. He wasn't usually surprised by his twin, knowing his mind as well as his own, but it was obviously a spontaneous decision on George's part.

He joined his twin who crossed over to the couch and held out a hand to the Slytherin. It was ignored, but when Draco got to his feet, he was decidedly unsteady. George took one arm; Fred took the other. They had ample experience hustling and directing people towards unwanted destinations. Often times they dragged their siblings out to the shed for one of their experiments, or more recently, unwilling parents to the more expensive side of their shop. By the time Draco recovered enough to pull back, they were already in the hall.

"There are cleaning products in ze bathroom," Fleur called.

Fred and George headed towards the stairs, their unwilling captive between them.

"So, Draco, right?" George asked.

Draco looked between the two, obviously wary. Fred and George smiled. Draco tried pulling away, missed a step, and the twins easily caught him.

"So," said George again. "Auror, huh?"

"How'd that happen?" asked Fred, picking up the thread of conversation.

"There were circumstances," said Draco.  
They reached the top of the stairs and the twins directed him into the master bathroom. Fred pushed down the toilet lid and they deposited him on the porcelain seat. George opened the cabinet, rummaged around, and found a vanishing lotion that promised to take away even the most stubborn of make-up. It was in a pink bottle with a rose sticker. Even the lotion was pink. George tossed it and a clean flannel over to Fred.

"Listen," said Draco, "I can wash-up myself."

But Fred already had the lotion on the cloth. He reached for Draco's head; Draco ducked away. Fred grabbed his ear, like he was Ron and he was trying to shove a pastry in his face, and dabbed the cloth on the dried blood. The lotion was quality. On the first swipe, the dried blood disappeared, leaving clear skin. It only took four more swipes to clean his face. By the end of it, Draco was shooting death stares at the both of them.

"Think it'll work on his hair?" Fred asked.

"Might turn it pink," said George.

"You're not turning my hair pink," said Draco. His voice was steely, and much more effective than the glaring because his eyes were still a little glazed.

"S’pose we can stick his head under the bathtub faucet," said George.

"That'd work," Fred agreed.

By now Fred had figured out why George volunteered to help Draco. He just wondered if the Slytherin was going to recognize the 'thank you' underneath all of the teasing. The twins didn’t have a serious bone in their body. It made gratitude and apologies somewhat unrecognizable.

"Touch me again and I will incapacitate the both of you and lock you in this bathroom with an impenetrable shield. Am I clear?" asked Draco.

Fred and George grinned.

"Sure thing," said Fred.

"Sunshine," added George.

And that was when Draco pulled a knife out of his boot. "Your assistance, while appreciated, is no longer necessary."

Fred and George backed up, arms in the air.

"Figures," said George.

"Only trying to help," said Fred.

"Slytherins," they chorused together, shaking their heads. They beat a retreat. At least, even if he didn't accept the 'thank you', they still felt better for having offered it.

**England  
Shell Cottage  
December 25th  
1:17 am**

Draco ventured downstairs once he had thoroughly cleaned his hair from any remaining blood. It actually had entailed sticking his head under the faucet and using some charmed soap. It stung like blue nettles and he swore like an owl-keeper. Then he had sworn because he didn't have his wand with him and had to rummage around for a towel to dry his hair. As usual, the towel left his hair thoroughly mussed, but at least he was clean again.

Kingsley was waiting for him in the living room, a vial of pain-reliever in his hand. Draco took it gratefully because his head was throbbing and the lights were glaring. Then he glared at his partner for leaving him at the mercy of two Weasley barbarians. Kingsley smiled serenely.

"Would you like some dinner, Draco?"

Draco looked up at the French accent. He'd forgotten the eldest Weasley had married Fleur.

"Non, merci.” The thought of food made his stomach turn.

"Try some toast, Draco. And have something to drink," said Kingsley.

Draco shot a disgruntled look at his partner. He did not need to be babied, but Fleur was already agreeing. 

"Yes. Of course. Nothing too heavy."

She left for the kitchen. Draco sat back on the couch, letting his limbs fall loose. Even with the pain-reliever, his head still ached.

Silence.

Merlin, Draco hated that silence. And while no one was looking directly at him, he was being shot glances, curious ones. Ones that seemed to be dissecting his every move. He hated the scrutiny. He had grown up in a house where he was always shuffled away from most of the parties and meetings, and when he was allowed to be in the presence of company, he was taught to be quiet, nearly invisible. The attention was stifling. It made him itch. He sat up, his hands flexing in irritation. 

"Feeling okay?" asked Kingsley.

Draco looked to his partner, pleading with him to do something, to get everyone to stop looking at him. Kingsley didn't have to do anything. A man entered the room. He was fair-haired and stocky, and appeared to be somewhere in his late forties, maybe fifties.

"I'm Ted," he said.

Draco waited for more. None came.

"Nice to meet you," said Draco.

"I married your aunt, Andromeda.”

"Oh," said Draco in understanding. "I was never really informed of your existence. Family scandal, and all that."

"Oh. You don't… you don't know Andromeda?"

Draco shook his head. He might have met her once, when he was very little, but he had no memory of it. “I did meet your daughter. At the Burrow.”

Ted seemed to hesitate, but then he thrust a gold pocket watch at Draco. Surprised, Draco took it, realizing it wasn't a watch, but actually a compass. The arrow was spinning lazily. The glass had been recently mended.

"It's a locator," said Ted. "Andromeda and I, we both have one. We were attacked by Snatchers and got split up. The locator broke during the battle. I haven't heard from her since."

Tonks would be devastated, Draco thought. He looked up at the man. “I’m sorry.” 

"I need your blood.”

"I beg your pardon?"

"The link was a drop of her blood. But the glass cracked and the blood spilled out. But you're a blood relation."

"A weak one,” Draco cautioned. Brothers and sisters or mothers and fathers worked best for these.

"But if she's close, it would work."

Draco paused. "It might.”

"Then please, just a drop. I need to find her."

"Ted," said Kingsley, cutting in. "Do you have any idea where she might be?"

Ted nodded. "A lot of those on the run have been hiding in Rosewick Forest. She might be there."

Kingsley turned to Draco. Draco sighed and slumped back on the sofa.

"Must we rescue _every_ Order member before the night is through?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are chugging along! I admit, it's easier on this story, because there is less to edit, but it's been great to get into a routine of writing again. Please leave a comment on the way out. Things are picking up!


	8. Appropriate Holiday-Themed Travel and Unexpected Reunions

**England  
Thirty meters above Rosewick Forest  
December 25th  
2:41 am**

Kingsley tried not to grin too widely. He had originally tried not to smile at all, but sitting next to Draco, whose studiously blank face hadn't changed since they took off into the air, was too much.

"It is holiday appropriate," said Kingsley, hoping that might assuage some of Draco's outrage.

Draco blinked once. His hands clenched into fists.

Kingsley smothered a chuckle with moderate success. His partner pulled up the collar on his red leather coat and slouched a bit in the seat. It was cold out, and the top of the convertible was down for better visibility. At this height, with only a location compass to travel by, everyone was keeping an eye out. And traveling at this speed, well, even the magical heaters couldn't do more than keep them from icing over.

"It is Christmas Eve," said Kingsley.

"It's two in the bloody morning."

"So it's Christmas proper then," said Kingsley. He clapped Draco on the shoulder. "The time of goodwill and holiday cheer."

The car lurched. Behind them, the twins laughed and Luna gave a small shriek. Kingsley glanced back to see that her hands were in the air, her head tilted back. Not an afraid shriek then. Draco turned as well and Kingsley watched his partner stare as Luna laughed, her loose hair whipping about her face. Draco turned back around and caught Kingsley's gaze. He slouched further in his seat, arms folding over his chest. He was probably blushing, but in the dim light of the moon, Kingsley couldn't see the tell-tale pink.

"Anything yet, Ted?" Kingsley called up ahead. Ted half-turned in the driver's seat, the reigns held in his gloved hands.

"Compass still says north. We must be getting close!"

Lee whooped from the seat beside Ted. He and the twins had flipped a coin for the front seat. Directly behind Ted and Lee, Fleur snuggled further into Bill's arms.

Kingsley pulled off his gloves to wipe his eyes again. The cold, plus the stinging wind from their speed, made his eyes stream tears. He held his bare hands over the vent on the side of the car, letting the hot air unthaw his fingers before pulling his gloves back on. He looked over to Draco again. His partner had lamented at the magical expansion of his car, informing Kingsley that he'd probably have to take it to a shop to properly shrink it back to five seats, and even then, the proportions might not ever be the same.

Kingsley knew Draco loved his car, but there was simply no other way of transporting everyone. Apparating was out of the question as the Burrow had wards against it. A Portkey would take too long to set up and the Floo was being monitored. They might get one or two people through, but not nine. The thestrals, well, most of the nine couldn't see the skeletal horses and in the dark, in the cold, it really wasn't feasible to ride. So the Ferrari had to be stretched.

"Come on," said Kingsley to his still-sullen partner. "It's Christmas. And here we are, in a red convertible, with the top down so it even looks like –,"

"I will toss you over the side," Draco threatened.

Kingsley grinned. That was better. 

"And we're flying," he continued. "Through the night."

"I'm only warning you once," said Draco.

Kingsley pressed his mouth shut, but only to keep from laughing. Draco shot him a satisfied look.

"And we're being pulled by eight flying, equine creatures," Kingsley added, unable to stop the words. "If only they had antlers –,"

Draco lunged with a curse. Kingsley laughed, fending off the fast, but not full-strength strikes.

Luna leaned forward over the seat, and Draco immediately pulled back.

"Isn't it exhilarating?" she asked.

"It certainly is," said Kingsley, and then he turned to Draco, waiting for a smooth reply, some comment that was both a compliment and a promise, all in one. There was no denying that his partner could charm the cloak off a Dementor when he put his mind to it. But Draco didn't respond. Instead, he was studying Luna as if she were some new form of constellation in the sky. Luna tilted her head and studied him right back.

"I thought you like flying," she said.

"This isn't flying. This is sitting in a floating car hooked up to eight wild, winged horses in the middle of a winter night hoping to find refugees in the middle of a haunted forest."

"You'll have to forgive Draco," said Kingsley. "He's not the adventurous type."

"Why ever did you join the Aurors then?" asked Luna.

"I must have temporarily taken leave of my senses," said Draco.

Kingsley scoffed and cuffed him lightly upside the head. Draco glared, but Luna nodded sagely.

"It might have been nargles.”

While Kingsley knew of Luna's… odd beliefs, it was the first he had heard them first-hand. Fred and George, sitting on either side of the girl, groaned and rolled their eyes.

"Nargles?" Kingsley asked.

"They live in mistletoe. They have a scent that is undetectable to humans and causes temporary insanity."

Fred and George snorted. Draco tipped his head to the side.

"It would explain why Alecto Carrow was caught snogging Igor Karkaroff during a Death Eater Christmas cocktail party," he said.

Kingsley stared at Draco. "When were you at a Death Eater Christmas Cocktail party?" 

"It was two years ago. I didn't know you then, so relax. Anyway, it created quite the stir as you might imagine, considering the family scandal."

They couldn’t imagine because they didn't know the family scandal. Draco saw their incomprehension and expounded.

"There are rumors that Romilda Carrow had an affair with Dmitry Karkaroff, which would make Alecto and Igor cousins."

"No," said Fred.

"Sick," said George.

They were both leaned forward, obviously wanting Draco to continue.

Draco shrugged. "There's bad blood between the two families, due to the rumor, and when Amycus saw the two getting amorous, he snapped and started let curses fly, and then the Rosier's were involved, being related to the Carrows, which pulled dear Aunt Bellatrix into the fray. It continued until nearly everyone was throwing hexes or trying to grab the wine and run. It all ended with a few well-placed crucios from the Dark Lord, but it was the liveliest party since Anton Dolohov unwittingly hit on a half-sister of his."

"Bloody hell," said Fred.

"You got any more stories?" asked George.

Kingsley waited with interest as well. He knew a lot about his partner, his favorite food, his favorite color, how he liked his coffee, but he'd learned all those through careful observation. Draco didn't share a lot about growing up. Kingsley didn't know if it was because of who his parents were, or if he was simply that private.

Draco gave another shrug. "I was generally not invited to such gatherings, being too young and all. The only reason I saw that one was because it was held at the Manor. But Mother caught me hanging over the banister and sent me to bed, and the next soiree was held at the Nott's. And that summer I left, and so my interactions with Death Eaters have actually been quite limited considering my family's associations."

"It's a bloody good story though," said Fred.

"You sure it's the truth?" asked George, crossing his arms. He obviously wondered if Draco was pulling one over on them.

The car lurched roughly to the side before Draco could respond. Kingsley was thrown to the side, managing to reach out at the last second to brace himself against the car door, and then he caught Draco as his partner slid into him.

"What the hell?"

Kingsley peered over the side of the car, grabbing tightly onto the door as the thestrals jerked in their harness. Ted shouted, trying to rein them in, but they were wild animals, not meant for domestication.

There were flashes of light in the forest below, reflecting off the trees. A small battle was being fought. The car jerked once more in the air before Ted regained control and leveled off the flight pattern.

"What do you think?" Kingsley asked.

"It wasn't a deliberate hit," said Draco, peering over the door on his side.

"A small skirmish, then. Probably fugitives," said Kingsley.

"There's a lot of fugitives these days."

And wasn't that the truth. 

"Snatchers, you think?" 

"Must be," said Draco.

"The compass!" Ted exclaimed. "That's Andromeda. She's down there! We have to help."

Kingsley turned to Draco who had a weary expression on his face. "Of course she's down there," the teen muttered darkly.

Usually his partner enjoyed these adrenaline-fueled rescues. Apparently it wasn't as fun when the rescue entailed estranged relatives.

"We need to get down there," said Kingsley. "It looks –,"

"Bad," Draco finished in an understatement, for the benefit of the civilians on board. "What do you think? Ten?"

"No more than fifteen.”

Draco looked at the forest below, and then turned with a sly grin. "Race you down?" 

And then he vaulted over the car door and fell silently through the night air. Fred and George swore in shock. Kingsley leaned over the edge.

"Cheater!"

**England  
In the heart of Rosewick Forest  
December 25th  
3:04 am**

Andromeda ran, as fast as she dared in the pitch-black forest. Her lungs burned and her legs ached. Her foot hit something, a log most likely, and she fell, scraping her palms and knees. She gasped, trying to bite back a cry, not of pain, but of fear and exhaustion and frustration. She'd been kept captive for five days. She’d been chained up in a cold cell, only given food and water once a day, and interrogated for information. She hadn't been tortured… much. Ironically, her sister Bellatrix was the only one who dared raise a wand to her. In truth, as a non-active member of the Order, she didn’t have any information to share, even if she had cared to give it. Her fellow prisoners had not been so lucky.

A bright red curse flew over her head, temporarily lighting the woods about her. She pushed herself to her feet, ducking low, and continued to flee. She didn't have a wand or a weapon, but she wasn’t going to be dragged back to her brother-in-law’s dungeons without a fight. A dim moonbeam trickled through the treetop, just enough to see the large branch on the ground. She snatched it up as she ran. Her hands just circled the width.

Another curse from behind her, this one nearly catching her. She ran into a thick bramble, branches and thorns tearing at her skin and hair, but she needed the cover. She needed to hide. She fumbled in the dark, found a large tree trunk, and tucked herself behind it. She calmed her breathing and tried to listen for her pursuers. Dolohov and Rosier were after her. While neither were impressive duelists, she couldn't hope to best both of them without a wand. She could only hope to keep their interest a little longer. There were more important people who were fleeing the Death Eaters. She’d do her part to help them.

Shouts sounded, at first distant, but then growing louder, closer. Wand light streamed through the trees as the Death Eaters approached. She held her breath. 

"Where'd she go?" Dolohov spat. He only was several feet behind her now.

"How the hell should I know? And how the hell did they get out in the first place?" Rosier's voice was fainter, coming in several meters from the right.

With Dolohov so close, she could hear him muttering curses. Close now. Just another second. 

Dolohov stepped past the tree and she didn’t wait for him to turn. She swung the branch like it was beater’s stick. It hit his head with a sickening thud. He dropped without a shout or a yell, but the noise was enough to grab Rosier's attention.

"Anton?" he called. She could hear him run forwards. "Anton? What the –?"

She grasped at the Death Eater’s body, trying to find his wand. A lumos lit up the forest and she jerked around to see Rosier, his wand alight, barreling down at her. His arm swung back, preparing a spell. She saw Dolohov’s wand, just a few feet away from her. She dove at it, her eyes closing, already knowing that she was too late. Her fingers grasped around the wand.

“Cruci –!”

“Aurors! Drop your wand!”

Andromeda whirled at the shout, hope blossoming in that one instant. Rosier turned as well, his spell cutting off in surprise. A stunner hit him in the chest and he fell. His wand light blacked out, leaving the forest in the dim light of the moon once more.

Andromeda cast her own lumos with Dolohov's wand. The wand protested, foreign in her hand. The light flickered before catching, but it was dimmer than a candle. The Auror stepped forward, face in heavy shadow. The red coat was the only distinguishing feature she could see.

"Are you alright?" the Auror asked. His voice sounded young.

"Yes, thank you. Thank you so much." Her voice was more relieved than grateful. She hoped she didn't sound rude.

"Is there anyone else with you?"

"Yes, but we were separated when we escaped. I don't know where they would be."

The Auror nodded and cast a location charm. "You can follow me, but stay back, just in case we run into any trouble."

"Yes, of course," said Andromeda. She followed the Auror through the woods.

**England  
On the northeast corner of Rosewick Forest  
December 25th  
3:11 am**

Kingsley surveyed the fallen Death Eaters with satisfaction. Three. Not bad. In truth, the battle had been a little disappointing. He didn't recognize the Death Eaters as anyone high in the ranks, and they'd only been moderately skilled duelers. It was troubling, however, that they were actual Death Eaters, and not Snatchers. Snatchers took orders from Death Eaters in the Ministry; they were more of an informal group. Death Eaters meant that this was the work of Voldemort. But what were Death Eaters doing all the way out here? Ollivander was an old man. He doubted the wandmaker could have run far. Where did they come from?

He spared a quick thought for Draco. He hoped his partner was encountering other no-named Death Eaters, easy to defeat, but he knew it was only a hope. He needed to find him. He’d been the one that suggested splitting up when it was clear there were two different skirmishes being fought in the woods. It was the right tactical move, but it didn’t stop him from worrying. 

He turned to the old man sitting on the log, hand over his heart. "You alright, Mr. Ollivander?" 

The wandmaker lifted his head and blinked at Kingsley. "Oak and dragon heartstring. It’s an odd combination. Oak is typically paired with the brighter cores, Veela or unicorn hair. And heartstring is more compatible with the darker woods, yew and hawthorne, for example. They help contain the raw power of the heartstring. The oak doesn’t offer that buffer. To control such a mismatched wand, you must have great strength. The result is well worth it though. That wand is capable of very powerful spells."

Kingsley glanced down at the wand in his hand. He'd never given it much thought before. Still, if Ollivander was spouting off wand-lore, he must be alright.

"Mind telling me if there are anymore of you down here?" he asked. He wondered if Draco had run into his aunt yet.

"There were several of us held," said Ollivander. "A young man and an older woman."

"Andromeda Tonks?"

“More were brought in after that. Three teenagers. Two boys and one girl. So young.” 

Kingsley felt the stirring of fear. "What three teenagers?" 

"The boy who lived. He was with us, in the dungeon."

Kingsley crossed over to the log and crouched down to stare into Ollivander's pale eyes. "What dungeon?" 

"In the great house. Old and beautiful, but cold. That way."

Ollivander pointed and realization hit. The only magical home in that direction was the Malfoy Estate. Granted, it was a day's journey south, but if Ollivander had managed to Apparate outside of the grounds then it would put him in the forest.

"Is Harry Potter still in the dungeon?" Kingsley asked.

Ollivander looked away. "Such a dark place to be held for so long. And’s still dark now. No sun to be seen."

Perhaps the old man wasn't alright. Who knows what sort of trauma he’d been through. Kingsley gripped his hands. "Please listen to me. Is Harry Potter still in the dungeon?"

Ollivander swung his head back. "We got out. A house-elf came. Got us out. We ran. We drew the Death Eaters away. Some still followed."

"Where did they go, Ollivander? Which way?"

Ollivander blinked and then looked around. He pointed. "That way," he said, pointing the opposite direction from where he had been running. "The boy with the scar and his two friends."

Damn it. Kingsley cast an agonized look towards the heart of the forest. Draco was somewhere in there with a who knows how many Death Eaters running loose. But Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley were in the opposite direction, and who knows how many Death Eaters were chasing them. The odds were in their favor; they were three, and Draco was alone. But if there was to be salvation from Voldemort, it lay with Harry.

"Stay here," Kingsley ordered Ollivander. "I'll be right back."

**England  
Somewhere in the middle of Rosewick Forest  
December 25th  
3:27 am**

Dean Thomas ran. His lungs burned and his legs ached. Deep pain radiated from his ribs. It made breathing hard. Before, in the dungeons, he thought he wouldn't be able to run. Now, not only was he sprinting through the woods, he carried the limp body of Dobby.

A snarl and a bark sounded behind him. Fear made his blood run cold and his feet pump faster. There was a tree up ahead, with a low, hanging branch. Anything to escape the teeth. He raised Dobby above his head, hardly feeling the sparks of fire in his chest.

"Climb!" he gasped, hoping Dobby would be able to pull himself up. He didn't know how deeply the knife had damaged the house-elf.

Dobby weakly grasped the branch. Dean glanced behind him. He pushed Dobby, shoving him up and then grabbed the branch himself. 

He wasn't going to make it.

Blinding white light filled the woods and his eyes slammed shut instinctively. There was a shout.

"Aurors! Drop your wands. Get down on the ground!"

Dean didn't have a wand, and he was too afraid to move. People yelled; curses zinged around him. Dean risked a blink. The light was gone, replaced by colorful flashes of light. He could just make out a red-coated form battling his pursuers. Curses flew from both of his hands. He sidestepped, twirled, and blocked with incredible precision.

A cry. One Death Eater fell. The other wasn't far behind. Dean looked around. Where was –?

The werewolf leapt from the shadows. It barreled into the Auror, sending him flying backwards. The Auror hit a tree and tumbled to the ground. The werewolf leapt again, his claws outstretched. The Auror rolled but the claws still connected. They raked across the back of his coat, and Dean knew the Auror was done for. He'd seen those claws. 

The werewolf tossed the Auror once more. Dean watched the Auror land, tucked into a ball, but then the werewolf turned its yellow eyes to him.

"Shit!"

Dean whirled around and grabbed at the tree branch, trying to get up and away. His feet scrambled on the bark of the trunk. He hooked one leg over the branch, and then something heavy hit his side. He fell, tumbling to the ground. Pain shot up chest and sides. He gasped for air, but none seemed to come in. It hurt. Merlin, it _hurt_!

The wolf leapt again, and all Dean could do was stare with wide eyes as the teeth snapped in front of his face.

"Please, no," he whispered.

A red flare of light shot across the night and slammed into the wolf's shoulder, sending the animal rolling to the side. The Auror was up, running forwards, revolver firing in quick succession. The werewolf was too fast. It darted behind a tree and was lost in the dark.

The Auror stopped, but didn't lower his gun. His wand was held in his other hand, arm half-up, ready to strike.

Dean didn't see the movement, but the Auror was already turning as another Death Eater charged from the forest. Spells fired, nearly simultaneously. Dean tried to follow the battle, but it was too fast. One spell was deflected upwards, hitting the top of a pine tree and setting it ablaze. It was the light of the flames that let Dean see the dirty gray-brown fur of the wolf.

"Look out!" he shouted.

He had expected the wolf to lunge for the Auror, its biggest threat. Instead, the wolf charged him, targeting the prey that had escaped. Dean threw up an arm, expecting to feel teeth bite into his arm. He didn't know what he feared more, the pain of the bite, or the curse of the wolf. It wasn't the full moon. Would that protect him?

"Impedimenta!"

That was Andromeda. Her curse tumbled the wolf. With a growl, the creature recovered and leapt for her. A stunner hit the animal's shoulder, fired from the Auror's gun. The werewolf staggered. The Auror, still locked in battle with the Death Eater, spun away from a spell and fired again. The wolf dropped to its side. The paws scrabbled in the dirt. The teeth snapped. The Auror managed to disarm the remaining Death Eater and stunned him as well. He stalked over to the fallen monster. He raised his gun and fired once more.

The werewolf lay still.

Dean stared at the Auror. He'd thought the man was finished when the wolf mauled his back with his claws, but now he could see the leather had held true. It must be magically reinforced. The Auror turned to him. In the firelight, a red stripe along the side of his neck gleamed wetly.

"You alright?" the Auror asked.

Dean felt his vision gray out. He still couldn’t breathe. The Auror, now only a dark silhouette against the flames, knelt over him. Hands touched his chest. If he had the air, he would have screamed. Instead his eyes rolled back and black rose up.

**England  
On the eastern edge of Rosewick Forest  
December 25th  
3:35 am **

It didn't take long to find Harry and his friends, even with the tricky business of Apparating through the woods. It involved a series of small jumps and a clear concentration, otherwise one might end up splinched around a tree. It was on the eighth such jump that he heard the tell-tale spark and fizzle of magic up a head.

Kingsley ran, knees bent and crouched low, not wanting to give away his cover. The woods had thinned here. More light made it through the sparser leaves and he could see dark figures running, shooting curses. They did not see him. They had no reason to fear an attack from behind.

A spot of something pale caught his attention. Up ahead was a small meadow. A figure was running for it, no, three of them. One would run ahead, the others covering behind a boulder or tree. They moved well for only being teenagers, but they were making a rookie mistake by heading for the meadow. Kingsley had no doubt Harry, Hermione, and Ron could hold their own against the four Death Eaters chasing them, but the Death Eaters would not be lured into the open for a fair battle. They would strike from the trees.

Kingsley put on a burst of speed, casting a small charm to muffle his steps. He was within striking range. He could have taken the Death Eater in the back out with a silent spell, and not alert the others, but the others were closing in on the three Gryffindors. Kingsley needed to get their attention. So he stepped out from behind the tree and called out Harry's signature spell.

"Expelliarmus!"

The Death Eater’s wand went flying and was lost in the woods. Kingsley followed that with a stunner. The other Death Eaters turned, surprised at the new threat, but still lethal in their response. Kingsley leapt to the side, calling up a shield and pulling his gun out of his holster. He was nowhere near as accurate as his partner with the gun, even though he had ten years of experience. Still, he managed to clip one of the Death Eaters as he blocked the attacks with his wand. And then, as he knew they would, the three Gryffindors took advantage of the Death Eaters' distraction. They joined the battle.

It was over in a matter of seconds. The Death Eaters fell and Kingsley was left looking across a dark wood at three figures. They were easier to see than the Death Eaters. Kingsley didn't think any of them were wearing coats and their light-colored shirts and pale skin made them standout against the dark wood.

"Hello? Mr. Ollivander? Dean?"

Kingsley recognized Harry's voice. While he could see the three figures, it was impossible to distinguish any more details, but then figure in the middle stepped forward.

“Hello?”

Kingsley waved, knowing they'd only be able to see his red coat. “Everyone’s taken care of, Harry!”

One of the figures tugged Harry’s arm. He could hear the faint, hushed voice of Hermione Granger. “We have to go, Harry. We can’t stay here.”

Kingsley knew they were on a hunt for horcruxes, and as much as he wanted to invite the trio back for Christmas, they had their own battles to fight. 

"But who are you?" Harry called.

"St. Nick," Kingsley shouted with a laugh. "Have a Happy Christmas!"

He watched as Hermione and Ron pulled him away so they could fight their own private war. Kingsley turned back to the woods. He had a partner to find.

**England  
Still somewhere in the middle of Rosewick Forest  
December 25th  
3:58 am**

Draco finished tying the bandage on Dean Thomas's chest. The Gryffindor was conscious again, but barely, staring vacantly at the flames in the tree. After putting Fenrir down, Draco's first action had been to contain the fire to the one tree, to keep it from spreading. He could have put it out, but he figured the firelight would be a good signal for Kingsley. And he didn’t think there were any more Death Eaters about. He’d restrained the Death Eaters he’d stunned and then had approached the male fugitive to lend some aid. He'd been surprised to recognize Dean Thomas. He'd thought the seventh year would be in school or at least lying low. His status as an unknown Half-Blood or Muggle-born would put him on a lot of Ministry watch lists. Apparently the Death Eaters had got to him first. He’d managed to rouse the Gryffindor and patch a bit of his wounds, but he needed a Healer. Or, at the very least, the bone-mending tonics in the first aid kit in his car.

Draco glanced back to Andromeda. She was standing closer to the fire, her arms folded about her. Neither of the two were wearing coats, and it was a cold night.

"Not anymore of you, are there?" he asked.

On the ground, Thomas stirred at the question.

"Da," he started, struggling a little to sit up. "Da –!" 

Draco pushed on his shoulder. "Hold still. You broke a few ribs. The last fall you took punctured a lung." 

The teen raised a hand at the tree he'd fallen out of. "Do-ey," he gasped, not having the breath to annunciate the word. 

Andromeda gasped as well and then sprinted for the tree. She reached up and lifted a small form from the lowest branch.

"You have a kid with you?" Draco asked in disbelief.

"House-elf," said Andromeda, setting the limp body on the ground. "He's hurt, badly."

A house-elf? Draco found himself thoroughly confused, but he pushed himself up from Dean’s side, ignoring the way his back twinged with the promises of bruises in the morning. His knee protested as well. It was swelling slightly from where he struck it on a rock when tossed by Fenrir Greyback. He joined Andromeda below the large tree. The fire provided just enough light to see the elf and the deep laceration on his side.

"Knife wound," Draco surmised. 

He pulled a vial of sealant from his coat pocket. He had no idea if this would help the house-elf, but the elves were tough creatures, so he doubted it would bring any further harm. He doused the cut in the liquid and then stared in surprise as the liquid fizzled and evaporated, leaving unmarked green skin behind. Apparently it worked very well.

The creature's eyes snapped open and locked on Draco's face.

"You!"

A flash of blue. Draco was flung backwards, much like the werewolf had tossed him. He was getting quite adept at tucking when he hit the ground. This time, he managed to roll right back up again, his gun already drawn and aimed.

"Stay back!" the house-elf demanded in its high voice. "Dobby revokes the son of Malfoy!"

"You stay the bloody hell back," Draco snapped. "I'll have you arrested for assaulting an officer of the law."

"Malfoy?" Thomas wheezed from the ground.

"Malfoy?" Andromeda repeated.

"Dobby protects the friends of Harry Potter," the house-elf announced. "Dobby rescues them from former master. Malfoy is revoked. Dobby is free."

"Bully for you," Draco snapped.

"He used to be your house-elf," Dean forced out, a fair bit of bite in his words considering only one of his lungs was inflated. 

"Oh," said Draco. He lowered his gun a fraction. "That house-elf."

Dean struggled to sit up, grunting and gasping. Andromeda immediately knelt beside him, helping him lean against the tree.

“He rescued… us from your dungeon,” Dean heaved out. “Now you’re… gonna toss us back in?”

“It’s tempting,” Draco snapped. Didn’t a rescue earn him a bit of gratitude?

Andromeda settled Dean and then stepped forward, in front of Dobby, and Draco was forced to lower his gun. 

“Draco?” she asked. “Do you remember me?”

She stepped closer. She was a tall woman, more reminiscent of Bellatrix than Narcissa. She had the same high forehead and strong jaw. The thin bow lips and straight nose. But her hair was lighter, chestnut instead of black. Her eyes were wider, adding a hint of innocence. Her lips weren't twisted, but smooth and smiling.

“No,” said Draco shortly. “But your husband’s here. Somewhere. And your daughter is at the Burrow.”

“I used to read to you,” Andromeda said. “When you were much younger. You used to call me Aunt Dommie. You loved _Fenwick and the Haunted Castle_. You’d ask for it every night.”

Draco had a flash of memory. A large book. Colorful pictures. Characters that would pop out of the page and battle each other. He remembered someone sitting behind him, holding him, leaning down to narrate in his ear. He’d thought it was Narcissa, but she was never one to tuck him in, was she?

“I don’t really remember it.”

“That’s alright. You were only three. And now look at you.” She stepped forward and reached out to cup his cheek. “All grown up and an Auror to boot. You’re so handsome.”

Draco took a step back to get her hand off his face. “Thank you?”

"You look like your mother."

That was a comment he hadn’t heard before. She noticed his surprise.

"You have her nose," she said. "And her eyelashes. How I envied her eyelashes."

They really weren't anything special. Narcissa was always charming hers black because she hated the startling white color they were naturally.

Andromeda suddenly threw her arms around him and squeezed. “Oh, I’ve missed you!” She turned and kissed his cheek and then stepped back, leaving Draco blinking at her in surprise. “How ever did you find us? And how did you get into the Aurors in the first place? Your mother must have pitched a fit. And aren’t you too young to be an Auror? Shouldn’t you still be in Hogwarts?”

Draco tried to wrap his mind around all of the questions she’d just asked. “Uh, well, I didn’t find you, not exactly. Your husband did. He had the compass. He was with Bill Weasley when we – my partner and I – stopped by. Not that we just decided to stop by. There was an attack, because of the radio. The Ministry had arrested the Potterwatch hosts. It wasn't really the Ministry, of course. It's mostly Death Eaters now, not that they’re all Death Eaters, but sympathizers and those who don't want to risk their lives. So we had to rescue them first, and then we went to Shell Cottage, and… what was the question again?” 

Draco suddenly wished that Fenrir’s claw had raked over his vocals cords instead of the back of his neck. Andromeda was obviously trying to work through his convoluted babble. Her eyebrows were furrowed in puzzlement, but she gave a gracious smile.

"Sounds like you've had a busy night."

"We've had worse," said a new voice.

Draco didn't start the way the others did. As soon as the sound hit his ears, he immediately knew who it was. Relief swept through, lifting the tension in his chest.

"Kingsley," he said, in simple greeting.

Kingsley stepped out of the shadow with an old man trailing behind him. It took a minute to place the man as Mr. Ollivander.

"Looks like you made some friends," said Kingsley, giving an easy grin. "And made some enemies." He gestured to his own neck in reference to Draco's injury.

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "No new ones."

"Kingsley," said Andromeda. She held out a hand and Kingsley clasped it gently.

"You made your husband a very worried man," he said.

Apparently his partner was better acquainted with his aunt than he was.

"Are you injured?" Kingsley inquired.

"No, just a little bruised."

"And here?" Kingsley asked, looking over at Dean.

Draco let out a breath, pleased that his partner was here to handle the civilians. He didn’t want to have to explain himself anymore. He dropped himself underneath the magically-contained fire and closed his eyes. Merlin, but he hated the holidays.

**England  
In an open field somewhere in the mid-western area of Rosewick Forest  
December 25th  
4:34 am**

"Are we all set?" Kingsley asked, trying to catch everyone's eye to get the affirmative. Since when did their group get so big?

Andromeda sat tucked up against Ted's side in the front seats. Their reunion had been heartwarming and greeted with a round of applause from the others. Behind them, Bill and Fleur were huddled under a thick blanket. Dean was propped against Lee in the next seat, with Dobby perched in the corner. Dean had been pumped full of healing potions to re-inflate his lung and start mending his ribs. He’d get through with no lasting damage. Fred and George were peering over from their row, making faces at their housemate. Luna was behind them, speaking with Mr. Ollivander in her calm, distant way, which actually seemed to settle the wandmaker better than a calming charm.

His partner was the only one who didn't look at him. Kingsley cast the floating spell and the Ferrari lifted into the air, hovering over the snow. Kingsley jumped up, grabbing the low wall and hoisting himself into the back seat. Draco had been sprawled across the length, but now he dropped his feet to the floor and sat up.

The Ferrari jerked a bit as the thestrals jockeyed in their harnesses and beat their leathery wings. The passengers grabbed at the doors. There was a stomach-flipping dip, and then the convertible was being pulled high, out of the forest and into the night sky. Luna had been right. It was exhilarating.

Kingsley watched the trees sink below them, and then the cold forced him to duck a little, to get away from the biting, whipping wind. He turned to Draco.

"You alright?" he asked. He'd checked Draco over before Ted had brought the car down, but it had only been cursory.

"Fine.” Draco waved the question away, but then paused, hand in mid-air, as he reconsidered. “I’m through,” he announced decisively. "I've had it with playing at heroics. I want to retire somewhere along the coast. I'm picturing a modest estate, three floors at the most, maybe a small ballroom in case I feel like throwing a party."

Kingsley laughed. "I hear you. Maybe I'll join you."

Draco looked down his nose at him. "You can have a cabin on the very edge of the estate. But if you start attracting trouble, I'll throw you off."

"Me? Attract trouble?"

"Hogwarts," said Draco. "The Philips. Reese River. Gordon Jefferies."

"First of all, the Philips were insane and I had to go in because Pat was down. And the river does not count. You know that."

" _Mora Seville_ ," said Draco, crossing his arms. 

If Kingsley blushed, it was so slight his dark skin showed no change. His partner had a point for her at least, not that he'd let Draco know.

"You want to play this game?" he asked. "Fine. Banks."

"What? No. That hardly –,"

"The Followay Bridge."

"Hey, I saved your –,"

"Timothy Malone."

"Wait one –,"

Kingsley leaned in. "Nell Thatcher."

"That wasn't –,"

Kingsley held up a finger. "Lyle Pennington," he finished.

Draco gaped at him. "You think that was my fault?"

"I'm simply saying that your presence precipitated events that may have otherwise not taken place."

"Not taken place? The house was already haunted!"

"And who seemed to attract the ghostly presence?"

"Magnetic auras are myths. The Oracle was faking!"

"She warned you," said Kingsley. "And who didn't listen?"

"She was a fraud. A hustler. A _charlatan_!"

Kingsley shook his head. "That one's on you."

"Unbelievable," said Draco. "You are so mistaken that it’s hard to know where to even start correcting you."

"Magnetic aura," said Kingsley.

"Incredible. A ten-year veteran of the IRS and you’re believing in a children’s tale. She charmed you good."

"She was spot on."

"I'm not listening," said Draco.

"She was."

"Not hearing a word you say."

"You know I'm right."

"Delusional."

"I thought you weren't listening.”

"I'm sorry. Did you say something?" 

Kingsley checked him with his shoulder. Draco responded with an elbow. They both grabbed onto the seat in front of them as the thestrals started their descent.

"Ollivander!" Ted yelled from the front seat. "This is your stop!"

"You sure you'll be safe here?" Kingsley asked. He looked down at the town below. Muggle. Small. Well-lit and perfectly still.

"I'll be fine," said Ollivander. "Just…how am I supposed to get down?"

Kingsley had a sudden vision of the Ferrari landing on a sloped roof, leaving hoof prints and tire treads in the snow behind them.

"No," said Draco, reading his mind. "No. How could you even –? It's _my car_ , Kingsley."

Kingsley sighed. "Fine. I'll spell a rope then."

He and the twins lowered Ollivander to the street, somewhat awkwardly. They remained in a low hover until the wandmaker crossed the road and made it inside a particularly cozy-looking home.

Dean's house was next and only two towns over. "It's new," he told Kingsley. "Mum moved when the whole… well, I don't think they know about it."

"Let Dobby help you down," said Kingsley, readying the rope. "And he can take you back to school when break is over. It's safe there now."

"You sure about that?" Dean asked. "Things were pretty ugly when I left."

"It's fixed," said Kingsley. "Draco had Umbridge sacked."

The Gryffindor turned disbelieving eyes onto his partner. "You? Sacked Umbridge?"

"Ms. Umbridge had broken the law," said Draco curtly. "The proper procedures were followed, resulting in her arrest and subsequent termination. Control of the school was left solely in the hands of Albus Dumbledore."

"You gave Dumbledore his job back?" 

Draco could have said yes, or nodded, or at least smiled to smooth everything over, but instead his partner sniffed and said, "Well, it wasn't my first choice. I prefer Headmasters who aren't doddering old twats."

Kingsley groaned, but Dean actually laughed. "I see you're still Malfoy.” He awkwardly climbed over the car's edge and then looked back. "I won't see you at school, will I?"

"I have a job.”

Dean nodded. "Well, bye then, I guess."

Dobby helped the Gryffindor down and once more they hovered, waiting until Dean rang the doorbell of a darkened home and a woman answered. A faint cry of joy echoed up to the car, and then Ted snapped the reigns and the thestrals were off again.

It was a longer trip back to the Burrow. Lee would be staying with the Weasleys, as now his name would be on a Ministry watch list. Luna would stay for the holiday as well before returning to Hogwarts so she could not be held as blackmail against her father again. Halfway there, Draco drifted to sleep. Kingsley moved a little closer, so when the next jerk of the thestrals caused the car to tip, Draco's head slipped to rest on his shoulder. By the time the thestrals touched down outside of the ramshackle house, the sun was just beginning to rise. The sky was tinged pink and pale yellow and the snow was beginning to sparkle. It was going to be a beautiful day.

Kingsley tapped his partner's cheek. "Draco."

Draco stirred, rubbing his eyes and then sitting up. He winced, hissing slightly, and Kingsley knew that the bruises were starting to sink in.

The light above the porch flicked on, and then the door burst open. Molly Weasley ran out in her nightdress, a shawl over her shoulders and a pair of boots on her feet. She was laughing and crying all at once. She ran to Fred and George, and they to her. Arthur followed close on her heels.

Tonks ran out barefoot, shouting "Mum! Mum, Dad!" Her mother burst into tears and scolded her, Ted laughed, and then Remus appeared, properly attired and swept her up in his arms.  
Bill and Fleur ushered Lee and Luna inside. Draco followed, still rubbing his eyes. Kingsley looked at the reunited families and felt a small pang that he would miss his father's party this year. It was the trouble with living so far away. Before this moment, he'd been more upset that the office party had been canceled, having found a family in the men and women of the IRS department. But there was something about his father's presence on Christmas that was the worst to miss.

He pulled the expansion spells away from the Ferrari, leaving the car perfectly proportioned again. The roof refit perfectly over the top. He vanished the harnesses next, but the thestrals didn't leave immediately, like he thought they would. Instead they tossed their heads, snorted, and walked a short distance away to curl up in the snow.

Kingsley headed inside. Lee and Luna were at the table. Fleur was heating up some tea and Bill was making eggs.

"Want some?" Bill asked.

Kingsley shook his head. "Where's Draco?"

"He went to clear out Ginny's room for Luna. Said he'd bunk with you.”

Kingsley nodded and headed upstairs. Draco had dumped his belongings in a corner of the room. The armchair in the corner had been transfigured back into a bed. Draco was face down on top of it.

"Draco," said Kingsley.

Draco moaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

"At least take your boots off.”

Draco didn't move. Kingsley sighed and shook his head. He pulled the boots off for him, and then tugged on Draco's arm until he sat up.

"Coat.”

Draco grudgingly pulled the duster off and then removed his shoulder harness. He flopped back down and Kingsley pulled a quilt off his bed to lay over his partner.

"We did good," he said. "You did good."

Draco grunted and rolled over.

"And you've found your family in time for the holiday. That's nice, yeah?"

Draco pulled the pillow back over his head.

"Hey. Who's supposed to be the one with the youthful energy?" Kingsley asked. He laughed when Draco pulled the quilt over his head as well.

He yawned suddenly, violently. Apparently his partner had the right idea. Kingsley pulled off his own coat and boots. He crawled into bed and gave a contented sigh.

"Happy Christmas, Draco," he said.

" _Fili canis_ , won’t you please shut up?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And everyone is rescued, yay! One chapter left, please leave a review on your way out!


	9. Comfort and Joy

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
12:35 pm**

Consciousness came slowly, reluctantly. He shifted, and suddenly the awareness that had been drifting just beyond his grasp came crashing over him. He _hurt_. He moaned and rolled onto the side that wasn't causing him pain. He reached for the pillow he knew must be there and pulled it over his head, hoping to block out his own brain.

"Draco," said a deep voice, somewhere behind him.

So that was what woke him up.

Draco sighed, turned over, and carefully propped himself up on his elbows. He blinked at his partner. Kingsley was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on his socks. He was also openly smirking at his discomfort. So much for the camaraderie of the IRS. Draco scowled.

"Shower's free," said Kingsley.

Draco groaned and dropped back onto his pillow. He debated the merits of going back to sleep. From the square of sunlight on his bed, it was around noon. He could probably sleep until dinner.

"Come on," said Kingsley. "Hot water will make you feel better."

But that would require moving. The Healers hadn't created a potion yet that could banish the ache that always followed rough missions, and Draco hadn't even taken an anti-bruise potion the night before, or rather, that morning. He'd simply fallen into bed. And now he was paying for that oversight. His ribs hurt. His knee throbbed. The slice on his neck stung.

He sat up and eased his legs over the side of the bed, wincing when he bent his knee. A definite sprain.

Kingsley laughed. "You're moving like you're eighty years old."

"You'd know," Draco retorted.

He didn't see the towel Kingsley threw at him until it hit him in the face.

"Get moving," said Kingsley. "You've got family waiting for you downstairs."

Family.

Images flashed through his mind. Lucius, applauding as Draco won his dueling championship. Narcissa, naming the flowers as they walked through the Witching Gardens. The idyllic summers in the country where his parents took him on outings several times a week, the time of year he saw them most often and they felt most like a family. Then the rise of Voldemort. Lucius going to Azkaban, Narcissa accusing him of tearing the family apart when he refused to take the Dark Mark. The first time Lucius' hunters had targeted him.

Maybe he didn't need any more family.

But Tonks was alright, and she seemed not to mind his snide comments or occasional bouts of teenaged angst. And Ted had begged Draco, a veritable stranger, for help for his wife. And Andromeda had smiled and touched his cheek. He'd withdrawn, of course, from all of them. He'd tried to stay away, shied away really, like some wild animal afraid of human contact. And when he did try to talk, his words came out jumbled and incoherent, his own neurotic brain unable to have a simple conversation with people who clearly weren’t a threat. 

Maybe they didn't need _him_. 

His face twisted. 

"Hey," said Kingsley. "You alright?"

Of course he was alright. But his lips wouldn't form the words. "I want to go home," he said instead.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized how childish they sounded. But they were true. He wanted to go home, but he didn’t know what they meant. He couldn’t go back to the Manor anymore. His flat had been destroyed. And the IRS bullpen, that loud, chaotic, familiar place, had fallen into Death Eater hands. He didn’t have a home anymore. He didn’t have anywhere to go.

Draco swallowed heavily. His eyes stung.

"Hey," said Kingsley, coming to crouch beside him. "It'll all work out."

His voice was gentle and his eyes were squinted at the corners, meaning he was concerned about him. Draco recognized that look immediately. How many times had he seen that expression on Kingsley’s face before? Usually it was followed by a deep conversation. A ‘heart-to-heart’ as Kingsley would say. Draco found such maudlin dialogues distasteful, although there was no denying their helpfulness. But Draco didn’t want to have a heart-to-heart, not when there was nothing truly wrong. He was just being a baby.

He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Kingsley let him go, but there was something in his expression that said they were going to have a conversation at some point today. That was fine. As long as Draco could have coffee first. 

The shower helped. The hot water poured over him, easing the tension in his muscles and giving him time to clear his head. Most of all, it managed to wash away the amazing amount of dirt and filth he had collected after being thrown across the forest floor by a crazed werewolf. 

Kingsley was waiting for him when he returned to the room, towel wrapped around his waist. For one moment, Draco felt a surge of gratitude because he hadn’t wanted to go downstairs and face the horde of Gryffindors alone. But then Kingsley held up the medical kit, and Draco realized his partner had just waited to torture him with foul-tasting potions. 

“Ugh,” said Draco, but he took the bruise-reliever, mild pain reliever, and let Kingsley dab sealant on the cut on his neck. It’d re-opened during the shower.

"Do you want to wrap your knee?" Kingsley asked. "Or do you want-,"

"Wrap," said Draco quickly, because Kingsley was holding up a large vial of ligament reliever and the potion, while effective, wasn't good at targeted the injured area. It caused the whole body to tingle, filled with pins and needles.

Kingsley tossed him the roll of stretchy tape and then proceeded to offer advice with every circumference of the bandage. Draco ignored him and then glanced a quick eye over Kingsley’s wardrobe, wondering what the dress code for a Weasley Christmas was. Kingsley was in borrowed jeans and an old, knitted jumper with a C on the front. Both had been spelled to fit, and both were exceedingly… casual. Draco pulled on a pair of plain black trousers and a pale gray jumper. It wasn’t dressing down, per se, because the articles were name brand and tailored to fit, but it was as close to casual as he got. He dried and brushed his hair with two quick spells and then pulled in a fortifying breath. 

Kingsley laughed at him and led the way downstairs. 

“I think you might get a scar,” he said, gesturing to Draco’s neck. 

“Next time you can handle the werewolf.”

"I thought animals liked you."

" _Reptiles_ like me. Anything with fur despises me, and I them. The same goes for small children."

Kingsley snorted his disbelief and Draco glowered. Just because that one child at the bank wouldn't let go of him…

"What about small children?" asked Tonks as they came into the dining room.

"We have a mutual dislike," said Draco.

"Damn. I was hoping for some free babysitting once I pop this bun from the oven."

Draco made a face, both at the idea of babysitting and the phraseology. He scanned the table, typically wanting a seat on the outskirts of the crowd, but it was nearly a full table already. Fred, George, and Lee sat on one side, fighting over a platter of bacon, and Mr. Weasley was reading the paper at the head of the table. Luna sat at the foot, staring intently into her teacup. Kingsley nudged him, indicating he should sit next to his cousin. He would have preferred the buffer of Kingsley between them, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. He sat and helped himself to the carafe of coffee, stirring in milk and sugar. He took a long swallow and could have sighed in relief. 

“Hey, listen,” said Tonks, putting a hand on his arm. “What you did last night… it was really amazing. And I just want to say thanks, to both of you." She turned to Kingsley now, with a smile.

Draco shrugged.

"Just part of the job," said Kingsley.

"No, it wasn't," said Tonks. "I know the job. This was more. This was incredible, and I'm grateful, and I know my family's grateful. I know the Weasleys are too."

And as if she beckoned her, Molly Weasley appeared and with a cry of delight, rushed them both.

An hour later, Draco stumbled out the front door and into the snow, a bucket of meat scraps in his hand. Kingsley followed, laughing at him the whole while. It was all well and good for Kingsley to laugh. He wasn't called 'darling boy' and 'dear, sweet child'. He didn't have his head patted like some precocious five-year-old. The full breakfast Molly Weasley cooked for them almost made up for it. Almost, because she had cried too, and it made him uncomfortable, and Arthur Weasley had wanted to shake his hand. Draco could have managed all of that, but then Andromeda had come down with her husband, and Draco had been reduced to a blabbering idiot. 

Draco trudged through the snow to the field behind the Burrow. He had thought that after such rough treatment last night the thestrals would have cleared out by now, but there they were, milling about like they had nested there. Some were nudging in the snow, looking for long grass to eat. Thestrals were omnivores and would eat almost anything, though they showed a preference for raw meat. Draco reached into the bucket and tossed out a strip. The thestrals reached up with their long necks, jockeying for position, before one snapped it out of the air.

Kingsley reached into the bucket to toss out the next piece. “Hard to believe we all made it.” 

Draco shot him a glance. "Doubting our prowess on the battlefield?"

"Not at all," said Kingsley. "But we were… oddly lucky."

"Hardly. We've been damned unlucky for the past two months. It had to turn the other direction at some point, to even it all out."

Kingsley smiled. "Perhaps."

They finished feeding the thestrals in companionable silence, each enjoying the calm of the afternoon. Draco had never been one to appreciate the stillness until he became a Detective Auror. Now he took all the peace and quiet he could get. He was really quite old for seventeen.

Kingsley threw out the last piece and then cleaned his hands with a spell. Draco followed suit.

“Your family’s real nice,” said Kingsley abruptly. "I know you don't know them yet, but they're good people. You should give them a chance. It’ll be good for you to have a real family.”

Draco winced. “Are we doing this now?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.” Draco walked to his car and kipped up to sit on the trunk. He reached into his coat pocket for the squashed carton and tapped out the last cigarette.

“Bloody hell, Sunshine,” Kingsley groused. “You told me you quit.”

Draco raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “I’m not having this conversation without a smoke. And I did quit. For a month.”

He waited for Kingsley to protest further, but his partner just sighed and hopped up to sit next to him. 

Draco lit the cigarette, pulled in a drag, and said, “You didn’t seem surprised when I told you that Lucius was the one that hit you with the Acer.”

“I knew it was him,” Kingsley confirmed. “I didn’t know if you knew.”

“Another secret?”

“Ah, kid,” Kingsley sounded almost mournful. “If I can spare you from just a little of the shit that life throws at you, I’m going to do it.”

Draco scrunched his nose. “You don’t have to make up for anything.”

“Make up for –,” Kingsley turned to him. “This isn’t out of guilt. This is because I care about you.”

“To the point of dying?”

Kingsley’s face twisted in confusion. “I know that you risked your life to save mine. How is what I did any different?”

“Because Lucius isn’t going to kill me. I wasn’t in life-threating danger. I never am with him.”

“No, he won’t kill you,” Kingsley agreed. “But he’ll hurt you. Find some way to change you or command you. And I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Even if it means dying?”

“Even then.”

Draco pulled on the cigarette. He knew he should object. He knew he should argue, try to find some way of convincing Kingsley not to do something so stupidly heroic. But it was a relief to hear, a relief to see the promise in action. Going back to Lucius, going back to his family after learning everything he had, after all the work he’d put into himself, the thought terrified him, even more than dying. 

He let out a slow breath. “Thank you.”

Kingsley snatched the cigarette from his fingers and tossed it into the snow.

“Hey!”

“No one gets to hurt you,” Kingsley said. “Not even yourself.”

“It’s one cigarette!”

“Tonks said you were also smoking when you guys were Christmas tree hunting.”

“Tonks is a –,”

“A loving cousin to be so worried about you,” Kingsley finished. “Now get up and pop the trunk.” He slid off the car and gestured for Draco to do the same.

“Why?”

“I got you something for Christmas.”

"And you kept it in my car?” 

"Seemed the safest place for it. I figured we might have to run from the office or home. I wanted to keep it easily accessible."

Draco opened the trunk for him, and then walked over to the passenger side door. He pulled out the box he’d hidden in the glove compartment. “I got you something too.”

Kingsley grinned. “Great minds.” He quickly undid the wrapping and smiled at the blue velvet jeweler's box. "Got something you want to ask me?" 

It was too large to be a ring box, but Draco found that the IRS Detectives lacked any real finesse in comedy. Their humor was largely juvenile and obvious. Kingsley was a lesser offender, but perhaps he felt he should now make up for the absence of the others.

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're hysterical."

"I'm not saying yes 'til you're on one knee."

"A regular comedian."

Kingsley laughed at his weary tone and then opened the lid. He pulled out a gold watch.

"It's for your ten year with the IRS," said Draco. "I know it was a few days ago, but I thought you might not get one considering the circumstances. Anyway, this one is better. Compass, locater beacon, a few shield capabilities. You can program a few others in. If you wind the hands forward three times, it's a Portkey. I figure that might actually come in handy someday. And this one looks a lot better than the department ones. I've seen those watches. Hardly fashionable, unless you’re into that minimalistic, solid look. This one has style. And a warranty. And if you –,” 

"Sunshine," said Kingsley.

Draco flushed. He'd thought he was over babbling in Kingsley's company.

"It's perfect," Kingsley continued. "I'm mean it."

"Oh," said Draco, feeling the pressure on his chest dissipate. "Well, good. You're a little hard to shop for."

"I'm hard to shop for?" asked Kingsley. "What about you? Talk about having everything." And he handed over his gift.

It was a plain mailing envelope. Draco slid open the flap and pulled out a few sheets of paper.

_Dear Draco Malfoy,  
The Board of Education, in conjuncture with Committee of Standardized Tests – Commission Office, has reviewed your application for a delay in testing for your NEWTs. After deliberation, it has been decided that you be granted the additional amount of one year to study for your NEWTs due to your service as a Detective-Auror of the IRS.  
The Board commends your efforts to continue your education. Remember, extensions are not granted lightly, so use your allotted time wisely. Please review the instructions concerning your delay of testing and owl any questions to the CoST-CO office._

Draco looked up at his partner in surprise.

“You’re working too hard,” said Kingsley. “And I know you’re behind in your studies. There’s no way you’re going to be NEWT ready by the end of the year, not working fulltime like we are. Hell, we’ve been working overtime since summer. I talked to a few guys I know about the extensions and then filled out an application for you. And that's not all. Look at the other pages."

Draco obligingly paged through.

"It's a practice exam you can take. A few of them actually. England doesn't have a program like that, but with a few strings pulled, you can send your practice exams to Canada or France, and they'll grade it and send it back with notes on what to concentrate on."

Draco felt a surge of gratitude. He looked up at Kingsley.

"Thank you," he said. "I thought I was going to go insane trying to keep up with my year. This is…," and he trailed off, searching for a word other than 'really great'.

Kingsley seemed to get the idea though. He clapped Draco on the shoulder. “I figured that if anyone deserves a break, it’s you.” 

**England, Location Confidential  
The Burrow  
12:50 pm**

Andromeda woke late Christmas Day. For a moment, she simply lay in the expanded bed, thankful for the husband sleeping beside her, for her daughter safe somewhere in the house, and being free of her brother-in-law's dungeon. Beside her, Ted stirred and then reached out to pull her close. His rough jaw tickled her ear, but she returned the embrace.

"This is a good Christmas," said Ted.

He said that every year. Each time, Andromeda thought of all the ways their family had been blessed. The year they had been doubly so. Just yesterday, she hadn't thought she'd ever see her family again. She smiled her agreement into his shoulder, before getting up and ready for the day. Tonks had leant her some clothes. Mother and daughter were the same height and shape, although Tonks' wardrobe tended to run a little juvenile. Still, she managed to look presentable in the most formal pieces, a pair of dark blue jeans and a fuchsia blouse. 

She crossed to the dresser and tried to pull her hair into some semblance of order. Ted picked up his wand and gently cast a detangling spell. Andromeda leaned back into his strong chest as the charm gently worked away the tangles.

"We're going to be grandparents," he said, still in wonder from the news last night.

Grandparents. Her daughter was going to have a _baby_. Her little Nymphadora.

Andromeda turned to give Ted a peck on the cheek. "Let's go find her.” There were many things to discuss. Baby names. Baby clothes. Appointments at the Healer. And not least of all, a wedding ceremony.

The Weasley house was old and crooked, but it was clean and well-kept. It was cluttered with little knick-knacks and pictures that banished all of the past few days from Andromeda's mind. She drank in the family photos and cheery ornaments on her way down the stairs to the dining.

She greeted her daughter first, with a kiss on the top of her head, which had Nymphadora screwing her face up in mock irritation. Then it was Remus, who got a motherly pat on the shoulder. And if she squeezed a little bit, it was just because she thought he was a sweet boy who would make an excellent husband, if only he ever got around to proposing.

"Andromeda, Ted," Molly exclaimed from the kitchen. "How did you sleep? Are you ready for some breakfast? I can whip up some eggs, if you'd like. I'm afraid the boys have demolished what was left."

The boys were obviously Fred, George, and Lee. Instead of looking guilty, they appeared extremely pleased with themselves.

"Eggs would be wonderful," said Andromeda. "Do you need any help?"

"Nonsense. Have a seat at the table. There's coffee and tea to start."

Andromeda pulled out the seat next to Remus, putting her across from Draco and Kingsley. She smiled warmly at her nephew. "Good morning.”

Draco looked startled. His eyes widened and he straightened in his chair.

"Good morning," he said back automatically.

In this light, the resemblance to Lucius Malfoy was unmistakable. But Andromeda could also see a good deal of Narcissa. The exotic white eyelashes that she had always envied. The cupid's bow lips. The high cheekbones.

She had, perhaps, been staring just a little. Draco shifted under her gaze. His hands folded together on the table.

"Or, good afternoon, I guess," he said. "Seeing as it's after noon… but, we are eating breakfast. And we did just get up, so I suppose in the colloquial sense it is still morning."

Andromeda remembered Draco's disjointed speech in the forest, when he had tried to explain his presence. She'd thought then that he might have a concussion, but now it was apparent that his jumbled words were due to nerves.

"But it's not really that far past noon," Draco continued, his cheeks flushing pink. "And when is it past noon enough to really be 'afternoon'? Is it exactly after the clock strikes, or should one wait an hour or so, as to not be too presumptuous? Or, perhaps the greeting is a preemptive blessing against a bad afternoon, in which case, one should say it as soon as possible."

And now his entire face was red, and it was actually quite fascinating. Narcissa never babbled. She was always serene and well-spoken. Andromeda wondered if he got it from Lucius then. Or perhaps it was his own habit.

"Or," Draco continued, and now he looked a little desperate, like he couldn't stop talking, "perhaps it's simply –,"

Kingsley dropped a hand on Draco's shoulder, and just like that, Draco snapped his mouth shut. His face was still red, but his hands untwisted from their too-tight grip on each other. Kingsley, Andromeda realized, was trying hard not to laugh. His eyes were shining and his lips pressed tight.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked Andromeda.

"Very well. And you?"

"Like a hippogriff. And I had to drag this one out of bed." He flicked Draco on the shoulder and then took his hand away, cautiously, like he was making sure his partner wasn't going to start talking again.

"Teenagers do require a lot of rest," said Andromeda, remembering when Nymphadora had been younger.

Draco didn't respond though. He simply sat at the table, back straight, hands folded – and how well Andromeda knew that particular posture – but his jaw was locked, like he was keeping from opening his mouth.

And then Arthur Weasley appeared.

"Thestrals are still here," he announced to the table. He strolled into the kitchen. "Do we have any scrap meat to feed them? I don't relish the thought of them hanging about, but they did provide a valuable service to us, and in the spirit of Christmas, we might at least say thanks."

"I do have a bit," said Molly. "Grab a bucket, why don't you."

Draco pushed back from the table so suddenly Andromeda started. 

"I'll do it. I wanted to get some air anyway. Maybe check on my car. It's out there too, I mean, of course it's outside, but I can do that while seeing to the thestrals. Not at the same time, of course, afterwards."

Andromeda felt her heart twist at Draco's retreat. No, retreat inferred there had been some form of engagement, and she didn't think one stuttered conversation counted. Draco was performing a hasty evacuation. No matter. It was Christmas. She'd get her chance to speak to him.

But it soon became obvious that Draco was avoiding her. He stayed outside for quite awhile, and when he finally came in, Andromeda was busy in the kitchen, helping Molly finish the Christmas dinner. With several unexpected guests, the Weasley mother was just a little frantic, although Andromeda suspected there would be enough food to feed half of Hogwarts. 

There was a lull in the cooking, about an hour before the meal, when all the dishes were either simmering or baking or couldn't be made right then. Andromeda slipped into the living room, but Draco wasn't there. Kingsley caught her quick search and nodded. He left the room.

Andromeda sat on an armchair and waited. A few moments later, Kingsley returned, and although he was not physically touching Draco, it was obvious he was forcing him downstairs. Draco was walking slowly, face blank. He lingered in the doorway, and glanced her way, and then there was a call from across the room.

"Oy, Malfoy, come here and tell Lee that the Tornados haven't gotten a chance this year!" Charlie commanded.

Andromeda did not imagine the expression of relief that crossed Draco's face. He headed across the room, and Andromeda knew that he would not be leaving that conversation in the twenty minutes she had before Molly would need her again in the kitchen. No matter. There was always the Christmas dinner.

But Draco somehow ended up on the very other end of the table. Andromeda sighed and watched him listen to the conversation around him. He didn't join in, not unless directly addressed, or if Kingsley was expounding too heavily on a story. But that was to be expected. Andromeda could see that Pureblood etiquette had its hooks in Draco. It was evident in his posture and the handling of his silverware. It was evident in his silence too. He would have been taught not to speak unless spoken to as a child, and while he was now officially an adult, the habit to remain mute would be a hard one to break. Andromeda knew that from experience.

She wasn't very disappointed. Not yet, there was still plenty of time left in the day. And the food was delicious. She ate far more than she had intended, but she had been very recently near starved in a dungeon. At the end of the meal, Molly pulled out perfectly molded sorbets, to finish the dinner on a light, sweet note. The true Christmas puddings would not be served until several hours later.

When the last spoons were dropped to the table, Molly stood and started clearing the table.

"Oh, Molly, do sit down," Andromeda implored. "You must let us do the dishes."

"Nonsense," said Molly. "You are all guests, not to mention you just escaped from the Death Eaters. Do retire to the parlor. These won't take me five minutes."

But then Arthur stood and guided her towards the living room. "I'll get the dishes, dear.”

Molly hesitated by the doorway. Fred and George rushed passed her, obviously trying to avoid any cleaning. 

"We'll help," Kingsley said, and nudged Draco with his elbow. Draco hastily nodded. 

"Absolutely not," said Molly. "It's Christmas. Go, have some more wine and sit down."

"As soon as the dishes are washed," said Kingsley. He turned to his partner. "Draco?"

With a spell, Draco magically whisked the plates over to the sink. It was a very practiced move for a boy who grew up at the Malfoy Manor which boasted the largest number of house-elves in a private residence in all of Britain.

"See?" asked Kingsley. "We have it well under control. Please go sit. It's the least we can do for your gracious hospitality."

The least they could do? What about rescuing half of the family?

Molly opened her mouth, no doubt to state what Andromeda was thinking, but then the large Auror was at her side and gently escorting her and Arthur into the living room. Andromeda pulled out her own wand, prepared to assist, but then Kingsley came back and gently tugged on her arm.

"But I can help," Andromeda protested, looking over to where her newly found nephew was filling a sink full of soapy, bubbly water.

"We've got this," said Kingsley. "And I taught him to wash dishes myself. He's quite suited for this sort of manual labor, wouldn't you say?"

A splash of water whizzed through the air to hit Kingsley in the face. Draco didn't even look over to aim.

Kingsley grinned. "What did I tell you?"

But Andromeda was hesitant still. It seemed the perfect opportunity to approach Draco, but Kingsley caught her gaze and gave her a reassuring smile.

"Give him a moment to unwind," he whispered.

Andromeda reluctantly stepped into the living room, but chose a seat close to the doorway, so she could glance in and smile when Kingsley tried tripping Draco while he was levitating pans in and out of the soapy water. Draco flicked a wooden spoon at his partner's head in retaliation. The spoon was blocked and sent back, and then proceeded to flick back and forth from partner to partner, until Kingsley managed to catch Draco off guard and it whacked him upside the head. She noticed the blow hadn't been hard at all.

**England, Location Confiedential  
The Burrow  
6:50 pm**

Kingsley grinned as Draco reached up to rub the spot on his head where the spoon had rapped. He supposed it was somewhat of a cheap shot because Draco had been shelving the Weasleys' antique tableware with a levitating charm and hadn't been able to keep a lookout for airborne spoons, but he wasn't one to pass up such an opportunity.

Or maybe he should have, he thought, as he suddenly let out a large, long belch and several pink bubbles burst from his mouth, leaving a soapy floral taste on his tongue.

"A soap-belching hex?" he asked Draco. "Is that a little juvenile?"

Draco simply raised an eyebrow. "Want to guess where I learned it?" 

Kingsley grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine and didn't answer. It was a well-known fact that on most days Draco was the most mature of the IRS Aurors, even compared to Ellington, who might appear stable as a rock, but really hid behind his crosswords most days. He took a large swig of the wine, to clear the soap taste from his mouth, and then picked up another bottle, also half-empty, and tossed it at Draco.

His partner caught it, his soapy fingers nearly slipping, but he managed to hold on. Draco tilted his head at Kingsley, confused. Kingsley simply grinned and raised his own bottle in a salute. He took another long pull and raised his eyebrows in challenge.

Normally, Kingsley did not condone an excessive intake of alcohol. He would like to be able to say that it was because he had a healthy understanding of his emotional and physical well-being, and deliberately led a sober life. But truthfully, it was because he was typically 'on secondary call', meaning that if there was a large mess, he may be pulled back on duty. But this was Christmas, and there wasn't any need to be particularly responsible. The Burrow was well-protected and fully secure, and he was officially off duty. 

And he needed to get Draco just a little bit drunk.

When Draco was tipsy, he became extremely personable. It was actually quite amusing, because if Draco was to fall into a mood naturally, it was the occasional pit of gloom and angst of which most teenagers were prone. But right now Kingsley wanted that carefree, smiling Draco. The kid needed to talk to his family.

Draco took a swig of wine, then met Kingsley's challenging stare with a 'happy now?' look of his own. "Clean the table?" 

"Sure," said Kingsley, smiling when Draco took another sip from the bottle.

With the two of them working together, it took less than ten minutes to set the kitchen and dining room to rights, and that included sweeping the floors.

Kingsley saw Draco pause once everything was finished and cast a wary look at the living room where everyone had gathered. So Kingsley poured the rest of Draco's wine bottle into a glass and forced it into Draco's hand. He then grabbed a new bottle and levitated a tray of glasses and walked into the living room to serve the others, just so Draco wouldn't suspect. He could see Draco trail behind him from his peripheral vision and stand in the entranceway, stiff and hesitant. Kingsley met Andromeda's gaze and gave her a nod. It was her turn to strike.

Kingsley deliberately turned his back on his partner, because he didn't want Draco glaring his way. He poured Molly and Charlie glasses of wine, but Remus waved his off. Kingsley left the tray on the table.

He risked a glance in Draco's direction. Andromeda was sitting with him on the couch. Draco looked stiff, and he was drinking his wine a little too quickly. Kingsley joined Arthur and Ted by the fireplace. They were discussing politics and war strategies, and it was a grim conversation for Christmas, but Kingsley enjoyed the subject and had quite a bit to share. He told Arthur that no, the Auror Department was not founded to be a private army for the Ministry, but yes, Ted, they did have emergency battle plans in their handbook and occasionally ran drills. Not that it did a lot of good.

Laughter interrupted their conversation. Kingsley looked over to see Andromeda giggling and Tonks was laughing so hard she was wiping her eyes. But what made Kingsley smile in satisfaction was Draco, head tipped slightly back and a wide smile on his face. He was laughing too.

"You got him drunk," said Arthur.

The flush on Draco's cheeks was unmistakable.

"Just a little," said Kingsley.

"Does he know?" asked Arthur.

"He'll probably figure it out. And sulk for half a day or so."

"Is it worth it?" asked Ted.

Kingsley watched Andromeda reach over to squeeze Draco's hand, a loving smile gracing her lips. And Draco squeezed her hand back.

"Absolutely," said Kingsley. He nodded, pleased with the results, and turned back to Arthur and Ted. They debated the merits of having a military, at least in reserve, but Molly must have overheard their topic. After passing by and frowning, she uncovered the small harpsichord in the corner and struck up a few Christmas carols.

Kingsley heartily sang along, joining Ted in the lower harmony, and someone, most likely Luna, was adding a very clear, very pretty descant to the chorus. Kingsley glanced to his partner, who had a somewhat snobbish view of music, but Draco was singing as well, or at least, his lips were moving.

Kingsley belted out the last verse of 'Joy to the World' and the windows shook with the volume of their singing. There were cheers and applause at the end, and a few calls for dessert that was immediately nay-sayed by the rest of the room who needed a while longer to recover.

Arthur brought out some games instead. Tonks pulled Draco into a game of Back-Snap with Remus, Charlie and Arthur. Kingsley wondered if he should warn them that he'd never seen his partner lose a game of cards, and although Draco's tastes ran more to gambling games, his winning streak included Exploding Snap and the more challenging version of Back-Snap. Kingsley decided he'd let them find out the hard way, and took the opportunity to examine the broadcasting radio Lee, Fred, and George pulled out. They had decided to host an impromptu session, in honor of the holidays, and to pass along that little bit of hope that Harry Potter and his friends were alive and still fighting.

"We have other news though," said Fred, after the first report was given. "Isn't that right, River?"

"Absolutely, Rapier," said Lee. "The fact is, Rapier, Sabre, and I found ourselves in a bit of a jam yesterday. Those of you listening may have heard that the Ministry, working with the Death Eaters, managed to pinpoint our location. Rapier and I were taken to the Ministry to be questioned, while Sabre escaped with this radio. He promised to continue the broadcast in our memory, but fortunately, with the help of two brave Detective-Aurors, that wasn't necessary."

"Something I am most grateful for," George chimed in.

"While we won't give you the names of these two brave souls, we are with them now, in a safe location, where we will continue to broadcast every bit of news we can. One of our rescuers is sitting beside us at this very moment. Would you like to say something… Royal?"

Kingsley grinned at the name. It wasn't the most subtle of trademarks, but he doubted speaking on Potterwatch would be the worst of his “crimes” if ever picked up by the Death Eaters. He leaned into the microphone. "I'd like to take this time to say a very Happy Christmas to all of you across England and especially to my fellow Aurors, who are fighting the corruption of the law they swore to uphold. Don't stop now; there are many of us fighting with you. And to my own division, the IRS, I hope you're well and that you are hearing this."

"Now, Royal," said Fred, "your partner is IRS too, but not someone you would expect to see on the Auror force, isn't that right?"

Kingsley grinned. "It'd be more likely to see a giant taking Arithmancy."

"Why don't you call him over to give a quick hello?"

Oh, Draco was just going to love that, but Kingsley turned and waved Draco over before a new game could be dealt. Draco frowned but managed to step his way over. When he stumbled, it wasn't due to the wine, but rather the fact that it was a little difficult to fit so many people into one small room.

"You beckoned?" he asked.

Fred leaned closer to the radio. "Now with us, we have Royal's partner on the IRS. Why don't you say hello to the folks at home, Sunshine?"

The glare that latched on to Fred promised a deadly retribution.

"It was Sunshine or Ferret," said George in a sotto voice.

Kingsley hadn't heard that one before, but Draco's cheeks flamed and his hand dropped to his wand. Kingsley reached up and tugged him down to the floor. Draco landed with a surprised 'oof' and then Lee was talking.

"Now, now, Rapier, Sabre, let's not forget Sunshine saved our asses just last night. So, Sunshine, we were just informing our listeners that most people wouldn't expect to see you in the Aurors. Can you elaborate on that?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's because I'm surprisingly intelligent for an Auror."

The three original hosts laughed. Kingsley flicked Draco on the arm.

"Do you have anything you'd like to say to our listeners?" Fred asked.

Draco gave Kingsley a despairing look, but then he turned to the radio. 

"Hello."

A few stifled sniggers.

"Have a girl out there you'd like send a Christmas message to?" asked George.

"No."

"Hear that, ladies?" asked Fred. "He's single and an Auror. We'll see if we can get you his address for the owlpost. No one should spend the holidays alone."

Draco turned to Kingsley. "Can I arrest them now? Please?"

The three radio hosts grinned unrepentantly.

"And that's Sunshine for you," said Fred. "Thanks for coming on the show."

Draco got up, narrowing his eyes at the lot of them, but he left, missing Lee's closing statement about him, which was probably for the best. Kingsley didn't think he would appreciate being called, “Sunshine, our very own Christmas miracle.”

**England, Location Confidenatial**  
The Burrow  
8:15 pm 

Draco stared at his cards, feeling somewhat tired and incredibly relaxed. Damn Kingsley for giving him that extra glass of wine. He was positive that his partner had gotten him tipsy on purpose. For a Gryffindor, he was disturbingly Slytherin at times.

Kingsley had done it because he knew Draco was a happy drunk, even though he shouldn’t be. For Merlin's sake, he was bloody teenager. He had a right to be angry or morose, or just plain angsty, but give him a bit too much alcohol, and he smiled and chatted and laughed like a well-trained debutante. Shit! It wasn't fair.

He also swore when he was drunk. A lot. Happily. Damn it all. At least most of it was only in his head.

Draco looked across the table and saw Tonks leaning against Remus, trying to see his cards. She caught his gaze and smiled.

"Don't think you're going to win this one, cuz," she said.

Draco smiled back, because 'cuz' felt warm and familiar, and then he frowned. He shouldn't be happy. He should be irritating and sullen, just to piss off Kingsley.

Arthur lay down a five on the discard pile. The cards were old, the picture of the five dragon eggs faded badly, but it was still visible. Draco smirked and the table groaned.

"Damn it, Draco," Tonks complained, throwing down her cards.

Draco's smirk grew into a grin. "Is it my fault you can't play a game relying on simple mathematics and magical probability?"

"It's your fault for being such a prat about it," said Tonks, giving him a sidelong look. "I oughta toss you in the snow."

And then Draco made a very deadly mistake. He looked at her, and her bright spiky hair and her patched purple shirt and her striped socks, and he laughed. In her face.

"Oh, you little snot-nosed bugger!" Tonks cried and lunged for him.

Draco rolled, still laughing, finding it hard to stop laughing, and scrambled to his feet. Behind him he could hear voices.

"Really, Nymphadora! You are a grown woman," Andromeda scolded.

"Tonks, dear, your condition!" Molly Weasley called out.

"Tonks, sweetheart? Do you really think –?" asked Remus.

Draco made for the couch, using Kingsley on the floor as a launch pad, because his partner had gotten him into this whole mess and deserved to have his knee stepped on. He launched over the low back of the couch, rolling neatly on the landing and getting back to his feet. He did stagger a little once the motion was completed, because he was tipsy, but all in all, he was surprised he hadn't fallen on his face. Much could be said for small bursts of adrenaline.

He turned and was momentarily stunned to see Tonks leaping over the couch as well. She _was_ pregnant, wasn't she? Damn it.

Draco took off, sliding between the wall and the Christmas tree and then pushing through the small space between the matching armchairs, nearly tripping over Ted's feet as he did.

"Keep running, Draco," Ted advised, taking this all very much in stride.

"Ten to one, she catches him!" Fred called out.

"Fifteen to one, Malfoy climbs up the roof," George countered.

"Do watch out for Bitty-Rugers!" Luna implored.

Bitty- _what_?

Kingsley, the git that he was, stuck out his leg.

Draco tripped but didn't fall. He was, however, now unable to find his footing for the sharp turn around the chaise-lounge. He made for the doorway instead, wondering if he could circle round the dining table, but then a hand grabbed the back of his shirt, and bloody hell, his cousin was strong for a girl. Then again, she was an Auror herself.

Shit.

"Come here, you little brat," she said, and started for the door.

Draco twisted, but not as hard as he could, because she was a woman and she was pregnant. He half-walked, half-hopped to the door as she dragged him continually off-balance. This wasn't going to end well.

The door opened, and she moved to push him over the one step and into the snow. Instead of fighting the move, he twisted around, grabbed her arm, and pushed off the edge, adding his momentum to hers. He landed on his back in the snow with Tonks on top of him, because she was pregnant and he wasn't foolish enough to push her where there could be a snow covered rock. Now that they were on the ground though… He shoved her over to make her own body-print in the snow.

"Brat!" she told him, irked that he'd managed to best her, but she was smiling. Then she shoved snow in his face and stalked back inside. Draco followed, shaking off the snow and reaching for his wand to dry to his clothes.

Laughter from the living room signaled Tonks' arrival. Her snowy appearance told of Draco's success and Draco joined the rest of the room to scattered applause. He slipped into a seat next to Luna.

"Was it a great battle?" she asked.

"Hardly worth mentioning," he said.

She was wearing borrowed clothes, not that it was really possible to tell because her own clothes hung off of her just as oddly, but these were normal clothes, no frills or flounces or random vegetable-themed jewelry. She still managed to look somewhat eccentric. A violet gauzy blouse and a caramel skirt. Blue stockings and a white, crocheted shrug. Her hair was loose and gleaming gold in the firelight.

"Are you having fun?" she asked.

"I suppose.”

She frowned. "It shouldn't be that difficult to determine."

He thought for a moment and was surprised by his own findings. “Yes, I suppose I am. Are you enjoying yourself so far?"

"Oh, immensely. Normally, at home, Father makes us dinner, but he's horrible at the barbecue."

"You barbecue for Christmas?"

"Oh, yes. Chicken and hamburgers."

"Well, it's good to have a tradition," said Draco, deciding not to comment on the oddness of the tradition.

"It's not a tradition, not really. We simply choose a meal at random. Last year it was Stromboli. You see, my mother used to cook the Christmas dinner, and ever since she passed, dad's wanted to make each Christmas as different as possible. I suppose he feels he might miss her more, if everything was the same."

There were proper responses to such a revelation, such as 'I'm sorry' and 'My condolences'. But for some reason, none seemed right. Probably because she herself wouldn't give such pithy sayings.

"Does it work?" he asked instead.

"It always gives us something to laugh about," said Luna. "Do you miss your family?"

Draco shrugged a shoulder. "Not now. Christmas wasn't a family celebration. Other days are harder." He didn't mean to say the last.

"Which days?" Luna asked.

"The summer," said Draco. "Mother spent a lot of the summers with me. She loved flowers and loved to visit gardens and parks. She usually took me with her. Sometimes Father would take me to the coast, and we’d swim in the ocean.” 

He looked away from her, not wanting to see her expression of pity, but she reached out and grabbed his hand, and he couldn’t help but glance back at her.

She smiled. “It’s good to have a tradition.”

His own words, parroted back at him. He gave a wry grin. “I suppose so.”

"Dessert!" called Molly Weasley from the kitchen.

There was a near stampede for the dining room. Draco hung back, following the crowd at a more sedate pace, Luna beside him.

"I have missed Christmas desserts," said Luna. "Mother used to make an incredible pudding, and I helped Mrs. Weasley with it this afternoon. It was fun." She looked up at Draco with dusky blue eyes. "I'm sure you'll like flowers again sometime too."

There was something sure about her expression that made Draco pause.

And then a shout sounded from the dining room. "Look who's under the mistletoe!" 

Draco looked up in alarm, and sure enough, a small sprig of mistletoe was hung over the doorway.

Fred and George turned to each other and made smacking noises. The adults, slightly more mature, only whistled.

"It's the nargles," said Luna with a patient expression on her face.

"We don't have to," said Draco.

"I've never been kissed before," Luna confessed. She tipped her head to the side. “I might like it."

Draco glanced at the table of cheering guests and back to Luna.

"Are you a good kisser?" she asked him. "I'd hate to be put off the experience my first time."

Was he a _good_ kisser? 

There was only one option to such a challenge. Draco stepped forward and slipped one arm around her waist, the other behind her neck. In a hybrid move from his dance instruction and Auror-combat training, he snuck a foot behind her ankle and nudged her off-balance. Her hands immediately latched around his neck as she fell into a deep waltzer's dip.

Her eyes widened in surprise and then he bent his head to hers and they touched lips. Her mouth was soft, and if she truly had never been kissed before, she was a natural. Her lips parted, just enough so he could taste the wine she'd been allowed to sip, and her mouth was hot and startlingly enticing, and she moved forward, one hand clenching in his hair and –

A bright flash of light. A photo-charm.

Draco pulled Luna back to her feet to the applause of the Weasley family and guests. His own partner was laughing at him and his aunt was showing Mrs. Weasley the image she'd managed to capture. Draco felt his cheeks flush, but he escorted Luna to the table with great equanimity. She looked a little off-balanced, but otherwise was remarkably composed. Draco didn't expect her to swoon at his feet, but some reaction would be appreciated, perhaps a blush or a smile or at least a look, damn it.

But she simply sat next to him and then took the dish of treacle tart that Molly handed down the table. Draco took his own, and tried not to look at the girl next to him. It was an impossible endeavor, and the conversation around them was loud and noisy, so he turned to Luna.

"Well?" he asked quietly. "Have I put you off kissing?"

"I can't tell," said Luna matter-of-factly. "Father said experiments should be repeated several times in order to obtain accurate data."

Draco was momentarily taken aback. Was she serious?

And then she met his gaze, and her eyes seemed to sparkle, and her lips were turned up with a secret smile. She was, he realized, flirting with him. It was a surprisingly normal thing for her to do.

"Well," said Draco, flirting right back, "who am I to stand in the way of science?"

On the other side of him, Kingsley choked back a laugh, which meant he'd overheard the conversation. Draco knew he'd be nagged and teased for weeks to come, but at that moment, sitting around the table, with a newfound family, a pretty girl at his side, and his partner next to him, he felt… comfort.

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the end of the story! Thanks for coming along with me, and if it's not too much trouble, please leave a comment on your way out. I hope that for all of you celebrating, that you had a lovely Christmas. I wish us all comfort and joy for the upcoming New Year!

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, this one is over on my FFN account too. But I was really in the holiday spirit, so I'm doing a quick edit on this story and will be posting a chapter a day. Yes, I am still working on The Code. I'll have that updated shortly as well. Please leave a comment on your way out. Happy holidays!


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